Hexing The Tide
by nemaihne
Summary: Love and War from Lucius Malfoy's perspective. Hexing the Tide is the wizarding equivilant of Carrying Coals to Newcastle. True to spirit, this became AU four pages in to book 6.
1. Chapter 1

**Hexing the Tide**

Chapter One

"_I am forgotten as a dead man out of mind: I am like a broken vessel"  
Psalm 31_

My daughter-in-law likes to say there is a reason so many soothsayers were put to the torch. She does love her single-sickle axioms a bit too much, but on this I am inclined to agree with her.  
Our own family has been marked by grief from one prophecy in particular. For seven generations the heir of the household has fought a vain battle against destiny. But as such things are written, so must they pass. I know that now. Had I known that early in my life, perhaps I might have been salvageable.  
However, I did not. And of this you must already be aware. That is why I pen my memoirs here, as a ward against any possible martyrdom. Those closest to me fear such events, but I find the very idea ludicrous. Their cause is lost, and those who still hold by the old garde do themselves more harm than they do others. They have more hope of hexing the tide. I do not hope to sway public opinion, except by such that I can remove myself entirely from it and thereby pass on to those around me decency which I shall never possess. Please allow me this small self-indulgence while I recount my part in the events as they happened and perhaps you might understand a bit of my position in them.  
I could bore you with much detail of the most base and dramatic kind to lure you into these passages, but such ploys are tiresome. As I don't wish to be redeemed, there seems little point to personal explanation or exposition. You are all quite aware of the participants by now. So instead, I will begin during a discussion I had with my son not long after his graduation from fifth year. At the time I was indisposed due to entanglements with the Ministry so he came to visit me in my chamber. We sat silently for quite some time before I took pity on him and bade him disclose his thoughts.  
"Mother has sent me for your key. She believes you still possess it."  
I laughed. She was correct of course. For all their faults, the Blacks were never known to be idiots. But they were arrogant, and proof lay in the very idea of her sending our son on such an errand. "Your mother has a key to her own family's vault. She has no business with mine."  
He reproached me with a look that could have been mine at his age. "She says it is for me."  
"And you will receive my key when I am dead, not before. But I grow tired easily in these surroundings, Draco. Was there another reason you have gifted me with your presence?"  
His eyes, my own eyes reflected, swept over me. I glanced down, noting the lost musculature, the ragged prison regimentals and the rough hewn cane the Ministry had provided once it became clear that Azkaban had turned an accessory into a necessity. Returning to him, I watched him swallow slightly and wondered what it was he so wished to say. His eyes returned to mine. "No, I don't suppose there is, Father."  
Perhaps it was the sheer desolation of my incarceration that got the better of me, for in that moment I grasped his hand. This would never have happened in polite society, but in such surroundings I felt it did not matter. "Draco…"  
He barely flinched as he pulled his hand away. It was to be expected, and I was a bit proud of his strength. I would have been prouder still if he hadn't shown a slight tremor as he raised his chin. But after all he was yet a few days shy of sixteen, only a child. So I shut my mind of it, considering instead this curious visit and his impending birthday. Within those few silent moments, my thoughts cooled and reason returned. In that instant, I knew.  
I knew her plans.  
"Draco. Do not return to the House."  
"What!" His face had traded all of the confused emotions for a single spark of incredulity.  
"I implore you. Do not go back there. Think. You are a Malfoy. That is what we do best."  
"I… You-! Father, this place has addled your mind. I must leave now." He stammered despite his best intentions. Despite _my_ best intentions, for I had done my best with such a sensitive child. I clasped him again, but with less kindness. Pulling him close, I tried to force logic upon him.  
"No, Draco. Let me tell you what has affected my mind. And do not respond to such things for even in my tiny tomb I am not always alone. Your _mother_" I spat the word, for the realization that had hit me was harsh "has had her family over whilst I have been away. And, more so, she has brought in a friend of that family. That is why you are here today. And when you return bearing the key, or in this case not, your value to your mother will cease. Do you understand me? DO NOT GO BACK TO THE MANOR!" I was shouting at this point, devoid of all control. I was speaking almost as if I was under Imperius, and my son bore the brunt of the onslaught.  
He wrenched his arm from me, leaping backward. As I stepped forward he sped to the door and pounded against it with his fists. The guards, who had stationed themselves near my cell during our visit, threw open the door. Draco turned to me panting, wide-eyed and yet triumphant.  
"You're wrong, Father. I will be quite safe." He discreetly touched his left forearm. "And safer still come Lammas. Perhaps I shall visit again after. We can discuss unfinished business then."  
The door closed, leaving me alone in the cold.

I paced for several hours after that, not an easy thing for someone in my physical condition, but my son's parting words of Lammas agitated me beyond any rest. This could not have happened had I sent him to Durmstrang. He would have been exposed to such things. Even with his pitiful education, he should have known there could be no initiations. Lammas was the Sabbat of harvest and consecration. I finally threw myself on my bench when I could no longer lean upon the cane. The family line would end here, regardless of conflicting prophecy. They would come for me. They would sacrifice my son. Then they would celebrate the season and my own wife would rut with that abomination. I speculated idly if she had not already taken that liberty while I was free, knowing me too blinded by doctrine to notice the viper at my very breast. Perhaps it was not her avarice that drove her to send Draco to me now, but her spite. She would let me know exactly her plans even as I was powerless to prevent them. The arrogance of that bloodline made me burn with fury- the first warmth I'd felt since my arrival in this place.  
Still, whatever her reasoning, she had overplayed her hand. Lammas was six weeks yet, if I had kept my sense of time correctly. And if she was indeed determined to enact Lammas rites then I had been wrong earlier, my son's usefulness to her had not yet ended. If he was wise enough not to mention our conversation, we would both most likely remain alive until then.  
I sank into my clothes trying to gather myself against the onslaught of the night's chill. Draco had never been able to keep his mouth shut.

By my own time three days had passed before the visit. The message had cost me dearly to send, both in spirit and in the physical expenses of bribery. But, nevertheless, Arthur Weasley perched on a spindle-wood chair brought in for his benefit. He sat before me in such discomfort that I nearly enjoyed the interview despite its desperate circumstances. His face had gone white, making the hair on his head more garish in contrast, and he pressed his thumb across his left index finger with such vigor I wondered it didn't bleed. Still, I was the supplicant, and it wouldn't do to forget my place. I waited patiently. We discussed the terms in discreet language despite the barrage of wards and, to his credit, he seemed willing to cooperate. I had no pretensions that I was a grand foe to be challenged or an adversary to beat. I was nothing more than a father, pleading for the life of his child. And that, in the end, was why he listened.  
I whored my pride and my dignity to him.  
I would do it a thousand times over if I thought it might protect my son.  
But once was enough for Weasley, who indicated with a furtive gesture that my offer would be taken to the Order. When he spoke it was loud and officious. He explained that the Ministry would need to consider their next actions in my case, given new information that had been discovered. He turned and left with a flourish for any secret eyes, no doubt headed for the office to create those new discoveries. I had never placed much faith in the man, but watching him communicate on two levels impressed me greatly. He would have made quite a capable Death-Eater had his priorities not been so badly twisted. Perhaps there was hope with his group after all.

The response was not what I expected. A fortnight after my meeting with Weasley, a Ministry owl found its way to my cell. It seemed the Aurors wished to call me in for questioning. They had new information about a Dark magic item that had been given to a child under false auspices four years prior. I quailed, knowing this could only be Riddle's diary and that it would destroy any chance I had with the Order. Weasley would never help me once it was proven I had a hand in the terrible injuries of his daughter. It seemed I had actually doomed my son years ago. Yet, as I let the paper drop, I noticed a slight etching across it, invisible until I had quit the missive. I quickly retrieved the slip of parchment and traced a tiny glowing Phoenix in the weave. When it faded, I folded the parchment carefully and tucked it into my shirt as if it was precious. For the first time in weeks, I held hope that my son might survive the summer.

Night was already falling when the Aurors came for me. Despite myself, I secretly hoped this might lead to a night of incarceration at the Ministry building before my return. I had grown to covet creature comforts, with warmth above all else. A night in one of the warm cells at the Ministry would be worth any of the less savory aspects of the interrogation. That it would be unsavory was emphasized when Moody himself came through the door with two young insignificants, a man and a woman, in tow.  
"Enjoying the facilities, Yer Lordship?" he sneered, that eye of his inspecting my cell several times in its gyration.  
"It is as to be expected from a system such as ours, I'm afraid." I might discredit myself for Weasley, but not for such a vulgar party. "It seems to be in such a sad state of affairs that they would even recall an old, spent wizard from his retirement."  
He merely grunted, motioned for the two youngsters to take their positions and cuffed me tightly. As if I might attempt to overpower them during our travel.  
I quirked an eyebrow at him. "How exactly shall I use my cane like this?"  
The sneer returned. "You'll manage, I'm sure. You always do." A jerk of his head and I was shoved toward the door. The cane clattered to the floor and I after it. But as I overbalanced, the young woman at my side caught me and kept me upright. She smiled gently before her façade slammed down. Moody glared at her. "Jones! Mind your footing. He's slippery…"  
"Yes, Sir," she gasped. We headed for the courtyard. Here the Ministry kept a secure Floo to the mainland, which could only be operated from the other side. I knew the mechanism for it, I must confess, as it had been used for the liberation of some of the Dark Lord's own party when the Dementors first abandoned the island. Moody stoked the fire while I calculated what chance I would have against three of them once we stepped out of the control Floo. I had little possibility of escape, as much from my own debilitation as from their bindings, but I still made note that the young male Auror held his wand much too casually for one in direct contact with a criminal. The naiveté of youth, I supposed. We stepped into the flames.  
The opposing gate was a large smelting chimney. I doubted they even bothered to mask it from the very few Muggles who might wander past. There was little else in the clearing and about a hundred paces off the forest started. Moody turned to douse the fire.  
"Strange. Where's Kingsley gone off to-"  
Just then black robes distinguished themselves from the tree-line. As they surrounded us I counted well over a dozen, all to attack the four of us. Perhaps I should have felt honored. Moody and the young female Auror immediately stepped in front of me and aimed wands. But the boy stepped away, raising his hands.  
"Don't kill me! I'm one of you."  
Moody glowered at him as if this was any time for indignation. The young man returned the look and exposed his arm, displaying the mark.  
A Death Eater laughed. One can never be quite positive with the masks, but I would have placed a hundred Galleons that it was Snape. It certainly made sense, as it would have been quite the pleasure for him to be in my hunting party.  
"A pity, then, I'm sure." The glow from his wand was red, so the young man wasn't killed. At least not immediately. Stunners tend only to delay the inevitable when one is dealing with Death Eaters. The young woman set her chin, reminding me somewhat of the last encounter with my son. She was waving her wand but I became so entranced by the tears spilling down her cheeks I did not even notice if she managed to get her spell off before she crumpled into a pile at my feet.  
Moody lowered his wand. "Aw, now, that wasn't kind. She'll have the night-starts for months after that." My mind quickly reeled through possible implications. Of all wizards, Moody would never co-operate with Death Eaters. I decided upon Polyjuice with the disconnected air of the condemned. It didn't really matter how they had infiltrated. The results would be identical.  
The Death Eater stalked over to him. "It was necessary, since _somebody_ felt the need to put a traitor in your midst."  
Moody shrugged. "No better way to try than by fire, I always say." He stepped across to examine the body.  
Other Death Eaters approached. "Really, Moody. This is not the time for your antics." The first voice must not have been Snape, for the second was undoubtedly the even chords of Weasley. Relief must have overwhelmed me, for the entire incident started to become confused. I can only remember now bits of the conversation.  
Moody shrugged again. "Can't be helped now. Although I'll have my work cut out when he wakes up. Best get on with it then..." He kicked the boy, glaring at the sea of black. "Well?"  
The second Death Eater shot a Stunner and Moody dropped. Another gently unlocked my bindings and placed something in my hand- a shoehorn, I believe. The familiar pull caught me and we were away.

The Portkey transported us into the kitchen of the Black ancestral home. This was no surprise, as I had suspected the Order held the place since Yule. A few months ago, my wife had even questioned the Ministry as to why it wasn't in her possession. Their reply had been terse, reminding her that both Sirius Black and her sister Bellatrix stood to inherit before her. Until such time as the Ministry interred both bodies, the note read, she was ineligible to hold the property. Narcissa had stormed the house for weeks in her dark fury over the matter. It amused me slightly that I was now ensconced in the house of Black while my wife was entrenched in my own. Wizarding divorces are never clean, which is probably why there are fewer than a half dozen a century. This one was aspiring to be the bloodiest in history.But I still had to earn my refuge, and this would come from the old fool smiling at me from his place by the table. Seconds later the rest of the Order filed in to join him. I quietly slid a chair from the table and sank into it, hoping my weakness might not be quite so obvious to the others. This would not be easy.  
Weasley threw off his robes first. "Detestable."  
He sighed. Behind him, others were divesting themselves.  
Dumbledore diverted his serene glance to Weasley. "But necessary. The Ministry will be after the Death Eaters and they, in turn, will hopefully be after their rogue faction."  
Weasley sighed. "Meanwhile, Moody will have his hands full with scouring his own department." He clucked his tongue absent-mindedly at Dumbledore. "Always that man has to combine agendas. Did you know?"  
But I lost interest in the petty conversation. My ears had not deluded me after all, for Snape himself had appeared among the group. I tensed, remembering countless times I had reassured the Dark Lord Snape wasn't bold enough to be disloyal. He turned his dark eyes to mine, daring confrontation. Instead I turned away from him, for a spy was beneath notice. If I might earn Judecca for my betrayal, at least I had the dignity to do so without deceit.  
Dumbledore took this opportunity to address me. His voice became colder, as ever it did when we conversed. "Welcome home, Malfoy. I trust you won't be foolish enough to try leaving since this may well be the last safe place for you in wizarding world now you have chosen to betray your master."  
"I have no master!" I retorted indignantly.  
Emmeline Vance stepped from the circle. No wonder they were able to throw about unauthorized Portkeys; they had the Minister of Transportation behind them. Her cold eyes held me as she placed her wand upon my left sleeve. "_Aparecium_."  
I refused to acknowledge her action. There was no point. It was simple truth. The mark stung slightly from its forced delineation.  
"Where is my son, Dumbledore?"  
Arthur sat heavily in the chair across from me, slicing the tension. I could read his face, but still I waited for him to speak. "I'm sorry." And I really did believe he was. Not that it mattered. "We have seen no sign of your son since you contacted us, and we started surveillance immediately. If what you have told me is true, your wife must have taken some action before we were notified. You were right about the others, though."  
Of course I was right. I was always right about such things. That was precisely why I was valuable. I studied the table while I considered my position. I was secure, at least for the moment. I was certainly safer than in Azkaban, not to mention a good deal more comfortable. The Order knew the location of most of the Dark Lord's highest circle, although they could not retrieve them since the mansion was Unplottable and probably under Fidelius by now. And since I was alive and now missing, if my son was alive, perhaps they would use him to draw me out. The room was silent as they watched my reaction to this state of events.  
"This is ridiculous. He's here regardless. We've held up our bargain. Besides, they'll flaunt his son soon just to see if they can't lure him into the open."  
I faced the girl who was so clearly reading my thoughts. I was quite familiar with her through my son, who's near constant reports on her vices I had been enduring for years. Granger the Muggle-born, most intelligent and headstrong- making her a dangerous combination. At only my son's age, she was yet a full participant in this farce. I realized then with a start that it was she who had shared the Portkey. I spoke, simply to cover my surprise.  
"If he's alive, girl."  
"Oh, he's alive." Her voice carried with it a blank certainty that affronted me. Had I not been kept so aware of her every activity since Draco's second year, I might have even suspected her of complicity. But there was no way this girl would hold with the Dark Lord. Despite her strong-will and power, she would remain steadfastly with the Order to the end. If the Dark Lord was destroyed, she would be an integral part of it.  
Then, well… Then she would go on to destroy my line.  
This was fact more than two centuries prophesied. I had suspected her from the first. But in that moment it was terribly real and coppery in my mouth. Here was the Muggle blood that would destroy mine. All of my efforts here would only buy my son some time.  
And, with any luck, take Narcissa down with me. There had to be some benefit to this, after all.  
I had expected them to shoo the children from the room before beginning their interrogations. Instead, they were allowed to remain while I gave what information I could about the Dark Lord's forces in general. I divulged almost everything I knew of Death Eater history that evening. Every member, every plot, every internal dispute of which I was aware. I could not tell what might be of service to them and what information they already possessed, so I simply offered much en masse and let them sift through for their own weaponry. While Snape might have given them impressive information on the current dealings, he couldn't know the inner workings as well as me. I then told them how I deciphered the assemblage of my wife's friends and the details of what I expected on Lammas, speaking in generalizations and euphemisms in light of the children's presence. Before the end of the interview, the Mark began its slow burn and I even told them that as well, so the Order might know he had called his chosen. Word must have already reached Him of my disappearance.  
Snape stood. With a final glare of defiance to me, he swept from the room.  
Dumbledore turned his icy eyes to mine. "Now. Perhaps you might clear up a long-standing mystery for those of us in the Order. How much does our dear professor divulge to your lord?"

Their inquisition went on for quite some time. Indeed, it might have gone on through all hours, but my journey, coupled with the strain of my situation, began to take its toll. I felt myself nodding before Dumbledore called a halt to the proceedings. Weasley's wife bade me follow her, and I swore silently as I saw the steep staircase that would ensue.  
"Perhaps he should stay in the sitting room." It was the damnable Muggle-born girl again, pointing to a small corridor off the kitchen. Service quarters, no doubt.  
"Yeah. We can watch him easier in there."  
This from the Dark Lord's greatest foe, the Potter boy. I had wondered what his reaction would be since he first sat at the table. I had expected some sort of attack from him, but this, his first and only comment, seemed to be simply an observation of logistics. He seemed detached, remaining silent during my entire interview and keeping a quiet rein on Weasley's youngest son as well. Gone was the brazen child who stole my house-elf. I'm not sure I understood what had taken its place, but I was weary and didn't dwell on it.  
"Indeed, Miss Granger, a fine idea. It is quite generous of you to sacrifice your little study space." Dumbledore winked at her, and this seemed to settle the matter.  
One quick glance at him and Mrs. Weasley amended her route. I was led down a thankfully flat hallway into a small basement sitting room.  
"There's only the chair or the settee," she said quietly. I am pretty sure she was trying to decide if she should apologize or consider it more than was warranted. As she furrowed her brow, I wondered if I should inform her that I was not involved in her brothers' untimely demise. I demurred however. When one's hands are soaked with blood it matters little whose blood it is. But for chance, I had no hand in their deaths. I was guilty just the same.  
She finally sighed, flicking her wand to produce a rather overstuffed double bed from the couch. After my weeks of incarceration, it was the most wonderful thing I could imagine. She turned and fled the room as if she'd produced a nundu, but I was too fatigued to care. I fell across the mattress.

I awoke with a start from some movement in the darkness of the room. It was my murderess, the Muggle-born girl. She was sitting by the hearth cradling a Kneazle. I deliberated asking if it was her turn to guard me when I noticed the bedclothes had been pulled across me. As my mind began to contemplate this I realized there must also have been a cleansing charm and a transfiguration of my clothes. I gasped at the impropriety.  
She faced me, silhouetting the fire against one cheek. "I'm sorry. But I can't use a Silencing Charm and I needed to stoke the fire. The cold…" She started to wave the Kneazle-less arm about the room, then suddenly shook her mane in frustration and went back to watching the flames. "You're not even there, are you?"  
"Thank you."  
Her eyes were glowing like the fire as she stared at me. I could see even in the firelight that her cheeks were flushed. Furious with my mere presence or my reaction to her kindness, I don't know. "You owe me nothing."  
"The fire was undoubtedly your doing. As most likely were the blankets. And the rest. I thank you for your consideration since you believe I don't deserve it."  
She flinched. "Do you?"  
"Does anybody deserve what they are given?" Our discussion faded as I considered the point. It was salient, after all. Through everything, I had acted to protect my son. Did he deserve it? Perhaps not. But he certainly didn't deserve his mother's actions either. What was deserved had no relation to what was fated. Unpleasant thoughts of fate resonated in my dreams as I slept once again.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

"_For the zeal of thine house hath consumed me;_

_And the reproaches of them that reproached thee are fallen upon me."_

_Psalm 69_

There was a window high in the wall of the little sitting room, and golden light suffused it when I woke for the second time. After the grey of Azkaban fortress, it was more beautiful than any of the masterpieces in my mansion. I lay on the impossibly soft bed and simply admired the way the light bent around the window jamb. It took quite some time before I recognized it for what it was, true white magic. After so many years in exile I had forgotten the radiant power of it. Now, more in need of healing than ever in my life, I basked in its aura wondering how many of the denizens of this household enjoyed the benefits without even realizing it. Moreover, I wondered who was secretly dabbling in the ancient arts.

"Oh! You're awake." The young red-headed girl stepped into the room with a tray. An entirely different proof of light magic vanquishing dark, I mused, as she stopped a pace from the bed.

I quickly stood. It wouldn't do to remain in repose amidst such company.

"Surely you don't provide bedside service?" I wheezed, for my quick action had taken more than I had expected.

She laughed. It was high and pure, making me cease a quick search for signs of Riddle.

"No. But it's getting on in the day and I thought, maybe tea? Hermione said you were so exhausted…" She set the tray down and smiled sheepishly, reminding me she was as Prewett as she was Weasley.

I liked this girl, despite her faults. Despite our history, which didn't seem to faze her. But once a parent, always a parent I suppose, which led to a need to protect the child. Ironic that I felt such, since it was protection from me.

"Are your parents aware you've come in here? With me…" I demanded, in my most disapproving tones. Or started to, for I trailed off at the last.

She was stunned for a minute. Then her eyes danced.

"Yeah. But they already checked all the books in this room."

I was dumbfounded. Too chagrined for words. She had not only survived her ordeal, she had the sheer temerity to make jokes about it. I must have stared too long for her comfort, for she poured a cup and handed it to me.

"It's really as simple as this: I could laugh about it, or I could cry. Laughing is much more fun. Milk? I'm afraid I must insist on the sugar."

I shook my head slightly and gingerly took the cup, too lost in thought to answer her question. "You are quite an amazing witch."

Again the smile.

"Yeah. I'm this bad now. Imagine when I come of age…" She winked and transfigured a second cup from the tea cozy. Pouring only halfway, she poured in enough sugar and milk to fill it. "Cheers."

"Your wand!"

She drained the cup and returned it to a now stained cozy. "Nah. Fred's wand. He's of age. It's amazing what you can get away with if you just think around the Ministry rather than through it. Now drink your tea, Healer's orders."

She left the room, leaving me lost in the swirling leaves of my tea and the eddies of her personality.

I didn't venture out of my little lair until the shadows had fallen over the window. I avoided food these days and even though the fire had gone out at some point, the room was much warmer than what I had known. I considered remaining in the room until I was bidden to leave it. But hiding would do me little good, so after deciding my garments would indeed be suitable outside a bedchamber I forced myself to face the household.

The hallway seemed much shorter than I recalled from the night before, and I only needed to press a hand against the wall to traverse it. Perhaps the window had done my body good as well as my mind. Optimistically, I even considered the stairway, and I tried to recall what I could of the layout of the house. Most of it eluded me, however, as I'd only visited a few times and those many years ago, before Draco's birth. So I found myself returning to the kitchen by default.

Mrs. Weasley was intently monitoring a large cauldron on the side of the fire. I was intrigued, I suppose since it was so rare for me to see someone cook. She would stir the concoction in the pot while absently waving her wand toward foodstuffs on the table. It reminded me a bit of potion brewing. The smell was quite amazing, reminding me once again that I had not fared well in Azkaban.

On the far counter, Hermione and the young Weasley girl were chopping vegetables. I noticed that under the eye of her mother, the girl was doing her work manually. She began singing something off-key which made Hermione drop her knife, laughing. That's when they noticed me, and suddenly the bustle of the kitchen quieted to only the simmering of the cauldron.

"Is there somewhere else I am expected to be?"

The Weasley girl's eyes flew from her mother to her friend. I realized how calculating that movement was when the smile again fell across her face: "No. This is good. Look, Mum, someone else to help chop the vegetables."

I could see the furrow once again forming across her mother's face. It was fairly amusing to consider her attempting to impose manual labor upon me, but she did not seem to see the humor. So I decided that I might diffuse the situation.

"My dear girl," I said as silkily as I could, "I just don't think your mother wishes me around the knives."

I had hoped it might make her laugh, but she merely bit her bottom lip. I must have hit too close to the mark. I thought the hiss from the fire might again take precedence, but just then there was a tremendous chime of the kitchen clock. Movement caught my attention and I realized it did not measure time, but people. The hand designated Arthur swept across the face from _work _to _home_.

"Oh. Thank God." This from Mrs. Weasley. It could have been from any of us.

The flames went green and Mrs. Weasley hastily slid the cauldron out from the fire just as Weasley stepped from the fireplace. He brushed himself quickly then swept across to his daughter.

"How's my Gin-girl? Have you behaved yourself today?"

She squealed as he hugged her, then she danced backward twirling.

"No. I've been horrid. Just like Fred and George taught me!"

Weasley laughed, and then his face took on that patient smile that I was beginning to consider hexed in place. He greeted Hermione, and to my surprise gave a somewhat friendly nod in my direction. But his attention was elsewhere. "Hello, Molly."

She returned the smile- the first I had ever seen from her but quickly dropped it. "Arthur…" He followed her eyes back to me.

"Oh, right. Of course." He cleared his throat. "Good evening, Malfoy. We should probably discuss our next actions somewhere else, so the girls can finish their cooking in peace?"

"By all means, Weasley. Perhaps the sitting room?" I swept my hand back toward the hall. I was just as much a prisoner here as Azkaban, but at least the cell was comfortable.

To my surprise he demurred, stepping onto the first step of the staircase.

"Let's go upstairs with the others. I think we might as well just leave that as your chamber, unless you feel strongly against it."

As if I was a guest and not a criminal. I followed his lead up the stairs.

"The room is quite acceptable, Weasley. Do you really think I would balk at such a thing when I am impressing upon you by my very presence?"

"One never knows." There was reproach in his voice, and no doubt in his expression. But I had little time to study it while we were climbing. The banister was not as solid as it might have been and I divided my efforts between leaning against it and trying not to let it creak under my weight. Absurd as it was, I needed the pride of self-reliance since I had no other. I wished secretly even for the nasty stick I had in Azkaban, but I could never request such a thing. I was determined to ask for nothing from these people beyond the original terms of our agreement. Instead, I set my jaw and simply counted impacts upon my right leg.

Thus I was unaware of her ragged portrait until we were upon it.

As I said, it had been years since I had ventured into the Black house. Prior to the Order's usurp of the building, I believe it sat vacant for the decade since Ophiuchus Black's death. As we came to the first landing, Weasley made a motion for me to be silent. Then I saw a long set of crimson curtains, serving as yet another reminder of Black arrogance. Pride goeth before the fall. I smirked, considering how this vision of graciousness must be taking to the Order in her own household. Mrs. Black was probably handling her guests with her usual aplomb.

"I take it she's as bitter a crone as ever," I said loudly.

With that the curtains tore themselves apart to reveal a portrait seemingly rendered in the style of those awful German artists. Incarceration had been as unkind to her as to her niece Bellatrix, the difference being Ophi's was self-imposed.

"YOU! YOU OF ALL OF THEM, YOU DARE BETRAY YOUR BLOOD! YOU'LL DIE A THOUSAND DARK DEATHS, TRAITOR!"

I must say that most of her screeches were quite unintelligible and I only remember a few of them. She did bluster for quite some time. Weasley blenched a bit, but I smirked and leaned against the far wall to better view the performance. When she would quiet, it required only a word or two to rally her. Morbidly, I wanted to see just how long the old hag could scream.

"Does it bother you?" I asked conversationally a few minutes into her performance. "Because actually, I'm rather enjoying the show. I'm certain it's the most rational she's been in two decades."

By this point Weasley had regained his composure, and took his place next to me. "I've never actually looked at it that way. We've been handling her with kid gloves since we arrived."

"That's to be expected. Everyone has always handled the indomitable Mrs. Black in such fashion."

Her tantrum was actually rather disappointing. It lasted only perhaps a quarter hour, although I recall the ringing in my right ear lingered several hours after. Early on Potter and his sidekick peeked from a doorway, but quickly pulled their heads back once they assessed the situation. It didn't make a difference, I'm sure, for the walls shook with her epithets.

She finally composed herself enough to scream in proper English.

"What have you to say for yourself, Lucius?"

"Little beyond the fact that your invectives are most unimaginative, Ophi. I really expected more of you."

She screeched a bit, but then folded her arms like a child. "You do not exist."

I'm sure she would have blasted me from her proud tapestry, could she have left her frame. If it still hung on the wall, I intended to have the honors done for her.

"I do exist. And I am here. As are the rest of this Order. And here they will remain until the Dark Lord is removed from power. Really, my dear Aunt, if you knew the _things_ your nieces were doing in the name of Purity you would hang your head in shame. Pity the last of the Blacks have sullied the blood. They were once such an esteemed family."

She threw taloned hands toward me, trying to tear at the canvas from the inside. "LIAR! TRAITOR! YOU SLANDER OUR NAME!"

"There's really no need for me to ruin it, now is there? Your relatives have already done as much."

She began to screech again, although she really had not the strength for it.

Weasley, who had been silent for this, whispered, "You really ought not to bait her."

"If you insist." I stepped forward to throw her curtains shut, for she was by now far too weak to fight it. But Weasley raised a hand.

"Oh, no. Not really. Truthfully, after the grief she's put my wife through, I'm rather content to see her on the receiving end of things."

I shut the curtains anyway.

"I do believe I've underestimated your darker nature, Weasley."

'I imagine that you've underestimated much more than that. But let's go sit; I've had a rather long day at the Ministry."

Our destination was the very room from which the boys had appeared. The two were still present, actively attempting to look engrossed in a game of wizard's chess. They were sprawled across a floor ringed with taken pieces in various stages of distress. White would take the game in eight moves unless there was a misplay. Weasley motioned me to a chair as he took a closer look at the board. He rubbed his index finger a few times before roughing his son's hair, taking the chair opposite mine as we watched the play.

"Your son is playing White or Dark?"

Weasley smiled, still surveying the board. "White. Of course."

I nodded, impressed. In a low tone I murmured, "Eight moves."

Weasley met my eye. "Six, Malfoy." he countered in a volume that quite matched mine and then flashed a slightly aggressive smile. "He's MY son after all."

Perhaps Potter heard us, for he tipped his king two moves later rather than letting the game play out. "You have me, Ron."

The black queen railed against the humiliation, and Potter quickly removed his hand from the vicinity as she swung her sword. The other boy simply acknowledged the obvious.

"Another go, then?" He began resetting the board as if the question had been rhetorical, but did not swing the board.

"Why did you not switch colors?" The words slipped before I remembered this was not a social occasion.

The boy just shrugged. "I always play white because Harry likes playing black."

My eyes shot to Potter, who never even looked up from his pieces.

"Don't read anything into it. I just play black because Ron always wins. I figure if I have to lose I should at least get to see the dark side fall."

I laughed, although I knew it was highly inappropriate. My mind was immediately taken back to the half-prophecy that had caused my arrest. Perhaps Potter's mysterious power was nothing more than pragmatism.

Distantly, I heard a chime.

"Doorbell," Weasley offered, as if I might not know what it was.

I suppose not everyone can arrive by illicit Portkey.

There would undoubtedly be more questioning for me this evening. The members had time in which to verify and sift the information I had given last night and they would have more directed questions for me this time. I was quite ready to assist, though. When betraying a powerful dark wizard, it's only safest to make that betrayal as absolute and complete as possible. My great uncle had learned that at the hands of Grindelwald.

Unfortunately, a few minutes later Moody's face appeared. At his shoulder was a woman of the most gaudy hair and eye color imaginable. It took me almost a moment to realize this must be the spawn of my wife's sister. She captivated my attention, for I had never actually set eyes upon her before and Metamorphmagi were quite rare.

Both boys ran to hug her, shouting, "Tonks!"

"Hey, boys! Why don't we all go see what we can do about getting supper on the table?" she responded perkily.

"You mean, why don't we all go AWAY so they can have a discussion about stuff you don't think we should hear."

"Well, yeah. That and I'm right hungry, Ron." She grabbed them each into a playful headlock and pretended to drag them from the room. There voices joined others in the hall before receding down the stairs.

Moody stood before us. Weasley stood up to shake his hand, but I remained seated. I saw no reason to exert myself so for the bastard who lost me my cane. He nodded in my direction. "Malfoy."

"Moody."

"You might be glad to know that the little Death Eater we brought in might have something about your son."

I tensed, trying to keep my composure.

"Indeed? Then I thank you for doing your duty so adequately."

He clenched his jaw. Then he leaned close to me, interrogating me with his blue eye.

"Would you know anything about a secret room in your house? Off the parlor, maybe?"

I willed myself not to react in front of this man. But my body betrayed me and I felt myself flinch. I did indeed know the room he described. It was primarily a storage room for such items I found a little too esoteric to keep on public display. It was too small for much else, having been created originally as the family dungeon. Malfoys had never been passionate about keeping prisoners. Not that we didn't take them. The room had most often served as an abattoir. While it was only logical that my son would be housed there, I had not wished to hear confirmation of it.

"Yes. I know of the room. Let's call it a catacomb."

Moody huffed. Some charitable part of me considered that perhaps it wasn't what he'd wished to hear either.

"It was a bit suspicious then that Draco Malfoy was seen in Diagon Alley at almost the same time I was getting this information out of my Auror." His scowl deepened. "Not that I didn't expect a trick. I was just hoping it might be easy for once."

"Diagon Alley?" I almost stood, but was afraid to lose what little bearing I had left. Instead, I simply gripped the arm of the chair to ground myself against the rising hope that I had simply made a terrible error.

"Yep. Browsed about, dropped some Galleons for lunch and made a big scene in the Quiddich shop. Wanted to buy the new broom but needed to ask his mother, you see, so he would definitely be back tomorrow."

I could feel my shoulders sag. "Polyjuice."

Moody wilted in turn, and it was only here that I remembered how he had suffered at the hands of Crouch.

"My apologies. I meant that someone was impersonating my son. Draco would never for a moment think he needed to ask for anything. Demand, perhaps. But never ask. If he's being held in our little room, so to speak, it wouldn't be hard to get whatever they wished from him to make the potion."

He swiveled his eye to me again and nodded curtly. His true eye, though, was softer than I had thought possible as it gazed past me at the wall.

"We thought that as well. Figured it was a trick and decided to set up an observation tomorrow to see who does show."

I filed this information even as I tried to distract myself from a mental catalogue of instruments that would be at their disposal. Not an easy task since I had taken such pride in my collection and knew every item. I had even used a few of them in my more enthusiastic moments. Now they were being employed against me in the most twisted and despicable manner.

Mrs. Weasley appeared in the doorway, her hands twisted in a tea towel.

"Arthur. Moody." She winced. "Mr. Malfoy. Are you ready to join us? I figured it might be better if I came to get you myself."

"Do you have anything more for us, Moody?"

"Nothing that we didn't already have from other sources. A few more names, is all. I think following up with Diagon Alley tomorrow is only going to get us a couple more low-level operatives, which we won't even be able to bring in without drawing attention. We need to just keep moving forward on Lammas."

"Lammas! Isn't that a bit late!" I was spurred out of my disturbing reverie.

"Well, Malfoy. If you've got an idea on the best way for us to storm your estate, take down You-Know-Who and all of his operatives, not to mention rescue your son, I'm listening. But right now that's our best plan. Thanks to you, we have a known rite, a known location and even a remote chance they're not expecting us. So, that's it then. Let's eat."

He was right, of course. But that meant I would sit comfortably in this household for weeks knowing my son was imprisoned and probably injured. I sat back down. Weasley glanced at me and waved the other two off.

"I can understand if you're uncomfortable eating with us. I'll have someone bring up a tray."

"That won't be necessary. I am not uncomfortable eating with you, Weasley. I am uncomfortable eating at all."

"Still I must insist…"

"And if it was your son? Or your daughter?"

He suddenly grabbed the front of my robes, bending down very close to my face and narrowing his eyes. I shied backward from his sudden onslaught.

"Never, _EVER_ forget, Malfoy. It _was_ my daughter," he hissed in such a nasty tone I could feel myself begin to quake. I gripped the arms of the chair in my desperation to remain still.

But his composure returned even as he released me and took on his normal passive façade when he paused by the door. Knowing for the first time what lay behind it, I remained where I was sitting, afraid to move.

"So I'll have a tray sent up. And you will eat." With that, he left me alone.

With my self-pity temporarily crushed by the insight into Weasley, I turned my mind to what could be exploited for our advantage. I was almost entirely sure Draco was still alive, but I didn't know if the knowledge was any comfort. How long had they been abusing him? My son wasn't strong enough to withstand it for long. Most likely, I reassured myself, they were just holding him there for Lammas. Also, Bellatrix enjoyed using her wand too much to rely on many devices. She had scolded me often simply for possessing them. Still, this was little comfort, knowing what Bellatrix's handiwork could do. Despite my best efforts to be productive, I spiraled into worry and doubt. It was entirely unlike me and I wondered if I really had been addled by Azkaban.

Fortunately, the scent of meat dragged me from such ideas.

She brought the tray. My Muggle-born assassin. Hermione, I amended and then questioned why. The meal consisted of some sort of mahogany stew with a large chunk of bread and some red wine. Not fare I would choose but certainly much more impressive than anything that had randomly appeared in my cell. It smelled quite satisfactory and I was quite famished. But I was not foolish enough to believe I could actually eat anything. The only sustenance I had been given in the past several days had been the highly-sugared tea of Ginevra Weasley. Even this common food would be much too rich for me. How ironic that such torture came in the guise of hospitality. I sniffed the wine tentatively, desperately wishing to taste it.

"There's no Veritaserum." She rolled her eyes and threw open her hands. It really was every bit as exasperating as Draco always described.

"Indeed. The thought hadn't yet occurred to me."

"Right."

I decided that perhaps the best way to undermine her righteousness was to be entirely too forthcoming.

"I was actually considering that I have not eaten in quite some time. This wine in particular is most tempting, as I have had none since my arrest. However, I have had almost no food as well. The wine therefore will most likely incite my defensive magic to take most unpleasant action." I tipped the goblet gently at her in mock salute. "You have set before me an exquisite glass of poison and bade me drink."

The effect was all I had hoped. Her eyes lost their annoyed cast as they widened. It was fascinating to watch the calculations cross her face, and I quite forgot the initial point of the exchange while in my study until her features came to rest in a rather incredulous expression.

"They haven't fed you since May?"

"Prisoners are fed sporadically. Their comfort is not high on the list of Ministry concerns."

"That's inhumane," she spat at me as if it had been my decision.

"Nonsense. I am, after all, a convicted criminal. Surely, you're aware it's not possible to starve a wizard to death."

She nodded silently. Then she fled the room.

I thought that was the end of the discussion, so I pulled the tray to me and picked hesitantly at the stew deciding if I should risk it. Just a few moments later, however, she had returned with a glass of water and a bottle.

"Here. A digestive potion and water to drink with the meal. Or to dilute the wine so you can drink it without so much trouble."

Indeed. The girl had parried my foyne. From the look on her face, she knew it. Nonetheless, by losing the round I had gained a glass of wine, a perfectly acceptable gambit. Perhaps there was something to Potter's philosophy.

There was little else I could do, so I drank the potion and turned my attention back to the tray of food. In a few minutes I could smell the stew less acutely and knew that my body would accept it. I forced myself to eat at a maddeningly slow pace so as not to seem desperate in her presence.

Instead of retreating a second time, she picked up a rather weighty book and flipped to where a piece of yellow ribbon draped from the spine. She absently sat down in the chair opposite mine, already submersed in her reading. I finished the meal quickly, despite my best attempts at decorum, and weakened the wine.

Perhaps it was the soporific effect of the food, but I must admit that I found her company pleasant. I was not alone, but also under no scrutiny or obligation while she was so engrossed. It was comfortable to simply watch the fire and sip slightly from my goblet. We passed time in this manner until footsteps outside alerted us to departures from the house. She looked over her tome at me.

"Of course I never said anything about Veritaserum in the water…"

Surely they would just hand me the flask and insist I drink it honestly. I quickly checked my body for signs but the alcohol masked everything, leaving me ever so slightly off-balance. I didn't think they would be quite so underhanded, but one could never be quite sure with Moody.

"There wasn't any. But I thought you deserved it for the crack about the knives." She smiled, reminding me once again that I was in a house full of children.

There were so many of them in this house. It might have been the wine but the fact of them turned me maudlin. So young, and already fighting the battles of their parents. One didn't need to be an adult to die in times such as these. It occurred to me how proud I had been of the pure-bred children who pledged themselves to our cause and how fervently I had hoped my own would do the same. Given that, I couldn't fault the parents for their sacrifice and I was certainly too far ruined to weep for the children.

I felt that perhaps it was time for me to retire and I said as much.

She nodded, already back to her reading. Her distracted dismissal seemed almost familial and entranced by this I miscalculated. I cavalierly picked up the tray to return it to the kitchen, given the obvious lack of house-elves. But the tray was awkward and I wasn't strong. I knew I was foolish the second I had it in my hands, but my pride would not allow me to correct myself.

Hermione caught me in my folly. Her eyes widened again, a sign I was beginning to recognize as calculation, then she stepped into my path as if it had been her intent all along.

"I wanted to know if you knew any way to get around that stupid sticking charm of Mrs. Black's," she asked conversationally as she took the tray and moved into the hall ahead of me.

This discreetly left me free to negotiate my way. "The way I have always dealt with anything concerning Mrs. Black has been simple avoidance."

"That's not what Mr. Weasley said. And we could hear her screaming in the kitchen."

"Ah. That. That was simply my way of pronouncing to her that her behavior will not affect my own. Intimidation generally works both ways."

"Well, I wish someone had done it sooner. She's been quiet all night. I'm hoping she's hoarse."

"I'd rather expected you or one of your friends to stand up to her already. I don't see why she should be any different from the rest of us."

Hermione shot a look over her shoulder at me. Then she sighed.

"I wouldn't even know where to begin with her. Every single spell has bounced off that stupid painting."

I stumbled less than gracefully on the last stair, which was unfortunate given that many of the Order seemed still gathered at the table. They merely pretended not to notice.

Hermione slid the tray on the counter and turned. "Well?"

Put on the spot I considered quickly. "You are Muggle-born."

The room went silent and I felt the weight of it upon me. This was not the best place in the conversation to gain an audience.

"Surely there must be some Muggle means of dealing with an inappropriate painting. That would be her worst fear."

She started to bounce. "Oh! Like turpentine!"

"Or that graffiti-removal spray stuff," Potter shrugged. "We got a bit of that in Little Whinging. Mostly from my cousin."

This led into a fast and somewhat loud conversation between them about Muggle art, but I couldn't follow it. Since I was no longer being scrutinized for stating the obvious fact of Hermione's lineage, I figured this might be a good time to slip quietly to my room. I was still exhausted.

Once removed from the kitchen, I let myself lean heavily on the wall as I shambled down the hall. The door to the little sitting room was open and I noticed the bed had been made. As I stepped into the room I saw a short stack of folded clothes on top of the blankets. I crossed to them and almost began undressing but decided to withhold that pleasure until the following day when perhaps I might be able to indulge in ablutions beyond a Scourgify. In honesty, I also had no idea what to do with the soiled clothes since I had never had to deal with such things before. I turned to place the stack of clothes on the chair.

Leaning against its seat was a beautiful silver-handled cane with a small red whipping where it joined the shaft. I ran my hand across the sleek finish to admire the generosity of my benefactor. That's when I realized the shaft was rowan.

My eyes instantly went to the window, for I had forgotten entirely why I had spent most of the day in bed. Was it possible there was also some sort of secrecy spell at work? I deemed that unlikely if I was allowed to openly trundle about with a rowan branch. Yet, how many wizards would even be aware of such arcane information? Few in these modern ages. Ollivander, of course. Dumbledore, perhaps. If it hadn't been for the obvious emanation of white energy this afternoon, I doubt even I would have realized the significance. But taken together, it was obvious someone in the household was well-versed in Earthlore.

Still, a cane was a cane, and I needed one desperately. If it also happened to have protections from dark control then so much the better. I'd spent enough of my life controlled by darkness.

Not directly controlled, you understand. That had only happened once. When I went before the Wizengamot the first time I had been able to manipulate a defense of Imperius because I was able to truthfully recount the incident. Bellatrix had placed it upon me once, thinking there was but one way to get me over the reluctance to get my hands bloody. Instead, she had forever cemented in my brain the link between such acts and the complete unpleasantness of being captivated by Imperius. Even here in my little haven the anger of that violation rose up within me. The Dark Lord was not unintelligent. He played me to my strengths even as he played Bella to hers, and I was rarely asked to sully my own hands. Instead, I found ways for others to sully theirs. I had been not been forced upon the path I followed, but simply led there while presuming to walk with a friend.

I considered along this line of reasoning for some time, analyzing the four decades that were my conscious life. Even after such reflection, there was little I could do but admit I would have become much the same person with or without His interference. It was exactly who my father had been, and who I was raised to be. It was who I had been raising my son to become.

Draco. I have to admit that I could never quite escape thoughts of him during my time with the Order. I had always known he was my Achilles' heel. Had I been a stronger man, I would have driven him from me years ago that I need not bear such an obvious vulnerability. But I did not. In my arrogance, I assumed that I was powerful enough to shield him so I indulged Draco, doing as little as possible that might harden him. Thereby, his innocence was my lapse and his suffering my guilt. This plagued me constantly, that I could withstand far more than he and yet here I sat while he was dealing with experiences best left unimagined. Lammas could not come soon enough.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

"_My confusion is continually before me, and the shame of my face hath covered me."_

_Psalm 44_

Indeed, it did come faster than I might have expected. For only the next day I realized I had not calculated time as accurately as I'd hoped. I had ventured out of my room more to enjoy the ease of movement the cane brought than anything else. As I entered the kitchen I overheard the two young Weasleys discussing Potter's birthday. Out of the odd hospitality that was extended to me, the girl offered an explanation.

"Harry's birthday is later this week."

"Gin," her brother hissed. "He doesn't care."

He was wrong. I did care. I had supposed it barely July and was somehow missing a significant amount of time. I leveled my gaze to his. "I was led to believe his birthday was not until the 31st of July."

He swallowed visibly.

"It is. But don't worry. I don't think he expects a present from you." He quickly retreated from the kitchen.

She, however, did not retreat. Astoundingly, she rounded upon me. Her eyes were rather tawny. "How did you know his birthday?"

I shook my head at her naïveté. Our wand pointing in the Ministry for the very item in question had landed me in Azkaban. "You forget. Someone had to research the prophecy."

"It broke, didn't it? You can't know it. If you know it then HE knows it…"

"The Dark Lord has always possessed half of the prophecy. While it would have undoubtedly been much easier to decipher in its entirety, you must admit I was accurate." I was speaking much freer than I should have been, but my mind was elsewhere. How had I lost weeks?

"You? Did you kill his parents, then?" Her eyes were narrower now and had lost some of their light.

"I suppose I did." In some ways, it is easier to face down a full Wizengamot than a single child.

"No. I mean really. Did you kill his mum and dad?"

At this I was brought back to the reality of the situation, and to the expression upon her face. There was darkness there, not unlike her father's when he had threatened me. But it was not her expression that troubled me, more my own reaction to it. I was suddenly aware I held some small revulsion for my actions and even a slight embarrassment that I had so affected her mood.

"I was the one who divined his potential. I was the one who lured their Secret-Keeper to our cause. Against that it really doesn't matter whether I raised a wand."

"It does to me."

"Then, yes. I killed them. And the Prewetts as well."

I watched her face as the curtain drew suddenly across it, hiding her emotions. She nodded appraisingly then calmly left the room. I didn't know whether this family amazed or frightened me. But I knew my harsh words were necessary. Why could I steel myself to do what must be done for someone else's family but not for my own? I retreated from the kitchen. Despite the freedom of the cane, I doubted I would be able to leave the room for some time.

The window was again glowing gold and my first thought was to throw myself into the shadow of my bed that its rays couldn't find me. But I was weak. Instead I slowly dragged the armchair into the path of it and sank into its padding, exhausted from guilt and despair. I had never before considered myself responsible for anyone who did not die by my own wand. How had I been so credulous?

I must have fallen asleep because when I opened my eyes, Mrs. Weasley was standing in front of me. She looked more formidable than I had ever seen her, so I assumed she was here on behalf of her family.

"What exactly did you say to my daughter?"

"I told her the truth about certain things. Your daughter does not quite seem to understand the wizard I am."

"The wizard you are? Ha! What kind of adult tells a little girl he murdered her uncles?"

She seemed at the brink of explosion and I wondered if she would actually dare. There was such temper in the Prewett blood. I really couldn't fathom how even tranquil Weasley bore no scars.

"One who did."

"You most certainly did NOT!"

"Would you rather I lie to her? Let her grow some unfounded belief that perhaps I'm just misguided? Perhaps I should explain to her that all the Dark Lord's actions were just blown out of proportion by the Daily Prophet and that he's really just the victim of bad press?"

Her hand made it remarkably close to my cheek before I caught it, even though I had been expecting the blow. My reflexes are not what they had been. But I did take pains to grip her wrist gently enough and to drop it as soon as I assumed her reason returned. She let her hands fall at her waist, but there she clenched them as if to give more weight to her words.

"DO NOT TRY TO HURT MY DAUGHTER!"

"My dear woman, I have already done so. As you are no doubt aware." I shut my eyes briefly as I could not afford to let her see my shame. "I am merely doing my best to ensure I do not harm her again."

She didn't make another attempt at me, although I have no idea why. She paced and stared a bit into the sunlight as if it was a crystal orb. I leant forward, distracted from my guilt by the fact that she might be its creator. Then she shook her head as if to clear it, plainly unaware of what she was seeing and I was doubly afflicted by the action.

"I have already informed Ginny that you lied."

"I didn't lie. I may occasionally twist words to my use, but you'll find I rarely break them."

"You lied. I know the names of all five Death Eaters who attacked my brothers."

"I didn't raise a wand to them, no. But I killed them as surely as if I had. Do you know who located them on the night they died? Who deduced that they were involved in the Order? Or that they were behind the raid at Emain Cal? For _that_ is what killed them."

She snapped her head around to me with the last, her reply bit through gritted teeth. "And there were several Death Eaters killed rather than arrested in that raid, including your own blood. Yet do you know or care who planned Emain Cal? You can't consider them responsible or you would have certainly tried to avenge yourself by now."

The words connected as her palm had not. I should have retaliated for my father's death. Why hadn't I? I would certainly have tried to kill her brothers myself, had I not been directly ordered to instead bide my time. My blood had boiled that whole winter, and I would have dreams where it was my wand that destroyed them. But I had never researched who had organized the attack. It had been razor sharp, brilliant really. Their numbers had been practically non-existent whereas our casualties had been pitifully high, including the untimely death of our primary strategist as a direct result. The Dark Lord did not take the defeat gracefully. Instead, he granted me the position with the admonishment to do better intelligence gathering. And I immediately started with the Prewett brothers. But there I had also ended the matter, assuming the raid directed by Dumbledore. I would certainly have been delighted with his death, but never demanded it. He invoked no rage in me. Trepidation, irritation and possibly even some small respect for his abilities. But no actual hatred. It was war, after all.

"I never deduced an advantage to direct confrontation with Dumbledore. He was too dangerous."

"He didn't plan the operation. I'm surprised you never _deduced_ that. You should be aware by now he is a general not a tactician."

I couldn't tell if she was just trying to make a point about causality or inform me she knew who was responsible. Either way she'd won. The fury over my father's death had ended with that of her brothers.

Unsure of how to respond, I simply didn't.

"So even you admit who wields the wand is important. So, enough of this nonsense. Come to the kitchen. Lunch will be ready shortly and my husband says you are to eat. And do not go telling any more of my children you have murdered anyone." She paused. "Even if you have."

I dutifully followed her and sat toward one end of the very long table. Much to my embarrassment, Mrs. Weasley motioned to an empty plate next to her daughter.

"I've already set a place for you, Mr. Malfoy."

Large dishes were clustered in the centre of them and to my horror I was expected to serve myself from them. I was wholly unprepared to face the etiquette such a situation required. I opted finally to content myself with a small portion from the dish nearest my plate, which turned out to be aubergines. I began to pick at them, wondering how long I must endure the farce before I would be released. As I examined a bit on the tines of my fork, I suddenly realized that very few people were aware of Emain Cal at all. Fewer still that my father had been there, for we had secreted his body away for propriety's sake. The fork clattered to the plate, startling us all. Mrs. Weasley's eyes appraised me across the table for an instant.

"Ron, pass the meat to Mr. Malfoy please." Her voice held its usual timbre but I was wary. It had suddenly occurred to me that it was quite possible I might be dining with the original strategist for the Order. She was a Prewett first, after all. This family carried an astounding duplicity of emotion below their simple veneer, and years of miscalculating them left me scrambling like a prey animal.

I took a small serving from the platter and quietly thanked him.

I crept back to my room after the meal, trying to get my bearings. My calculations and observations were suspect and perhaps my mind as well. If I could no longer rely on my wits for protection, I was defenseless in this confusing milieu. I curled into the chair as if I was a child, trying not to think at all. For a few hours, I even let Draco slip from my mind. The implications of Mrs. Weasley's conversation chilled me. Most likely, I was sleeping under the same roof as my father's murderer. Ironically, I was probably also under the same roof as my own. There was something oddly reassuring in that. As if Hermione's very presence negated the threat of the Dark Lord on my son by right of prior claim. I took up the cane and considered it once more.

_A Muggle-born witch with Love in her heart…_

Perhaps it was time to discuss her hobbies.

I found her alone in the upstairs sitting room. My enquiries ended with her rather discomfited confession that the cane had come from her family, completely Muggle. She was a terrible liar, only coming into her own when she asked if I wanted to retain it, since I would no doubt consider the cane tainted by its origin.

Intrigued by her fabrications, I had instead requested the honor of it and she'd seemed quite pleased. Only then did I realize the significance of my answer. I had announced acceptance of the rowan, which increased its power.

Hermione was obviously my white-witch.

Having my answer, I prepared to withdraw when she placed a hand on my left forearm. I froze, shocked by the scandalous nature of the action. It was shameless enough for her to touch me, but her palm covered the mark on my arm.

"May I see it?"

I should have stormed away in disgust. Instead, I only stared at her, trying to comprehend why she should even have an interest.

"I had an idea. Before my parents- before I came here, I got something from my parents that might work against it."

"Miss Granger. Nothing counters the Morsmordre. That is part of its very essence."

Nevertheless, I unbuttoned my cuff and slid the cloth up as if she had placed Imperius upon me. She flinched as it was exposed, then recovered and took my arm for closer inspection. The air around us crackled slightly.

"There's nothing there!"

"Did you really expect it to remain exposed when not called? That could prove most _inconvenient_, don't you think?"

Still, she kept searching for something upon my arm. I remained absolutely still until I could bear no more.

"Miss Granger. I must ask you to please quit making contact with me."

She threw down my arm and rolled her eyes. "Yes. Of course. It simply _will not do_ to touch another wizard. Heaven forbid you mix the magic. Is there any wonder why so many purebloods go wooly? I'm only trying to help."

"Of course." I concurred, thankful that she had dropped my arm regardless. "May I replace my shirt sleeve now?"

She colored. "Oh yes. Sorry, Mr. Malfoy," she apologized, suddenly her age again. Then she rallied, cajoling like a child in Honeydukes. "But I had an idea. Would you let me try something the next time it burns?"

"Try what exactly?" A myriad of horrifying possibilities sprang to mind.

She fidgeted from one foot to the other. "Not magic. Since magic won't affect it, I thought maybe something else would. Kind of like the idea you gave me for turpentine. I think it will work…"

"If it comes to that." I bowed my head as graciously as I could manage and removed myself from the room before she could realize I had not actually given her an answer. I knew enough of Muggle Britain to know that turpentine was poison.

The next few days passed innocuously enough.

The issue with Draco in Diagon Alley had come to naught, as I had known it would. The twin Weasleys had come in the next evening tripping over each other's sentences as they recounted what happened. Instead of simply taking my son's proxy into custody, Moody had arranged to question him about my whereabouts in a ploy to confuse the Dark Lord. Evidently he gave a convincing performance of a man obsessed. It shouldn't have been much of a stretch.

In the early afternoons, I took lunch with Mrs. Weasley and her brood. I tried to do so inconspicuously, answering only direct questions. But the children had there own agendas, and I was often obliged to look to the matriarch before answering.

Her son asked what I might have done without politics. Her daughter asked if I missed my home. Hermione asked how long the Dark Mark hurt when I was called.

Potter never asked anything at all.

Whether it was just because he despised me or because he fought so hard to keep the Dark Lord out of his mind, I don't know. But I was grateful that at least one of them had some sense.

Yet I had grown quite accustomed to this makeshift family. Spending time in their presence, I could almost forget none of us were here by choice. It had been no surprise to me that the Burrow had been destroyed before the Weasleys had even made it home from King's Cross Station. Evidently, the Granger household had also been a target, but Hermione made veiled references to her parents indicating they were still alive. Potter's family I knew intimately, and it irked me the horrid little clan was somehow impervious. Having studied them, I could easily imagine why he chose incarceration here instead of any amount of freedom afforded him in Surrey.

The children never went outside, fearful of being observed. So they congregated in the upstairs sitting room. I spent much of the time with them, keeping a book in my lap, but I often failed to read for watching them. The two boys would sprawl on the carpet and play chess while the girls would play cards or read. It had begun to occur to me that like everything else in the house, this too was a pantomime.

One afternoon they seemed particularly sulky. I tried to decide if I might go bait Mrs. Black for them - she had been remarkably quiet since Hermione had threatened her with some Muggle concoction. I considered this intelligent behavior on Ophi's part, given Hermione's threat to me of the same type of intervention. But the children seemed to need a distraction.

Instead, Potter's owl flew into the room, making me realize it had been absent since my arrival.

"Ooh. Hermione! Look, Hedwig's back."

She tore to the snowy owl and quickly removed the small packet from its leg.

"Mallaga." She stated the word so unemotionally she caught my attention.

It caught everyone's attention. The boys forgot their game and Ginny came to her side.

"Where's that then?"

"Spain," she sighed. "It's a beautiful town."

"Oh. Well, if it's beautiful there, then I'm sure they're happy."

"Does it matter?" She ran from the room in tears.

The two Weasleys ran after her, leaving me to face Potter alone. His cold green eyes appraised me, but he remained silent.

"You really will be an asset to the Auror corps if you choose to remain on path for that."

"I suppose I should be surprised you are aware of my career choice."

"Not if you expect to be a good Auror."

"Do you know what happened to her?"

"I can surmise. It was only a matter of time before someone attempted to raid their household. I daresay I was the best restraint the Death Eaters ever had."

"You're a disgrace!" Finally a flash of emotion from him.

"Agreed. However, these days it's entirely too difficult to decipher what I am even disgracing."

"The Burrow was destroyed too, you know!"

"And this surprises you?"

"No." His voice drained of its emotion. "Everyone around me is in danger. They are weapons to be used against me."

I watched his defenses fall of their own accord. Here was our savior, an abandoned child.

"You're wrong, Potter."

His eyes were green, not grey, but they might as well have been my own son's when he lifted them, searching for reassurance. Had he no one better to turn to in these moments? For the first time in six years of observation, I felt the tragedy of his position. If he had no one better, then indeed, I would serve.

"Everyone around you may indeed be a weapon. But they are not _His_ weapons, they are yours. You are more powerful with friends by your side. You know this. Your friends know this. Everyone knows it." I paused, letting my words penetrate before continuing. "Have you considered that those fatalistic ideas in your head may not even be yours?"

He gasped, touching the mark on his forehead. I nodded. Then he fled the room to find his friends. I wondered if I had lied to the boy, but decided it did not matter. He had his reassurance, and that was enough.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

"_Deliver me, O Lord, from the evil man: preserve me from the violent man;_

_Which imagine mischiefs in their heart; continually are they gathered together for war._

_They have sharpened their tongues like a serpent;_

_Adders' poison is under their lips."_

_Psalm 140_

The week passed in agonizing slowness as I waited for signs of Potter's birthday and the chance to act. I could get no information out of the Order as to their plans, but I was determined to be involved in the rescue of my son. How could I not? It irked me that they seemed to have no use even for any information I could provide. But I was intimately familiar with the area. My ancestral home was not far from the Salisbury plain, and if necessary, I could find my own way there on Lammas. So I waited.

But there was no birthday.

A few evenings later I suddenly felt warmth under my sleeve. I was at the time ensconced with the children and truth be told, a bit fearful that Miss Granger might realize what was happening if I reacted, so I was careful to make no overt response. It was not as if I had any need to see the flesh bruising black to know what was happening. I was about to slip from the room and prepare myself when Narcissa's relative clomped in. Other footsteps passed in the hall as she fell into the chair opposite mine.

"Wotcher, kids, um-" She started to address me, but stopped short.

"Good evening, Miss Tonks."

"Evening, er, Unke." She eyed me rather impishly from under a mop of impossibly green hair.

It took only an instant for her statement to penetrate. She was daring to claim relation. I composed myself to answer forthwith. But I had no answer to give. She was blood to my wife and I was, as yet, still married. In these odd times, I was more inclined to dismiss her based on the Black blood than the Tonks. So I did neither; merely nodding as if I hadn't noticed while lost in my reading. She watched for a moment more before shuffling toward Potter.

"Harry…" She put a hand on his shoulder. "I'm so sorry about your birthday, love. But we'll make it up to you when we can."

He looked up, but not at her. His green eyes met mine. "It's Ok, Tonks. I'm used to sacrifices."

My heart stopped. I'm sure of it. If I wasn't a renegade, I should have been rushed to St. Mungo's immediately. The sacrifice wasn't his. It was my son's. All pretenses were lost. I threw the book to the floor and dove for Nymphadora's wand. But she was an Auror, and suddenly moving with the speed of one caught me with an _Impedimenta_. "It's too late. They'll have cast a Domociliusward." She sighed. "We're all trapped here until someone returns. I'm really sorry. They've gone."

"Without me." I staggered to my feet.

"Without me, too. They don't want either of us there. Blood's a dangerous thing on Lughnasadh."

My blood was already there.

She said more, however I broke my attention from her and began to pace, trying to consider a way out before someone would return to relieve us. I believe there might have been quite a conversation, but so intent was I in my internal fervor that I did not take any account of it. At some point, I found myself sitting again in the chair. I was exhausted. My niece leant over me.

"I think..." she trailed off. I stared into the livid green of her hair. "Sir? Uh, Lucius? I could give you a sleep spell if you'd rather?"

"Absolutely not!" I started to rise again, indignant. But I was gently pushed back to the cushion. "If I can do nothing else, at least I might stand vigil. I … It can't…" In their furious racing, my thoughts seemed to have left me behind. I peered at her. "Nymphadora, what do you even look like, under there?"

She stood back, aghast. There was a discreet choking from one of the children. She glowered at them, daring. Then she shrugged, making a face as if she were attempting her first Apparition. Instantly, she stood before me almost as my wife, but with raven hair.

"I'm more of a Black than I'd like, really. Fortunately, it's not something I have to live with." She started to concentrate again, but opened her eyes again and sighed. "Is this better? I can stay like this for a while if it'll make you happier."

"No. By all means, find something else. You must understand I'm not terribly fond of the Black family right now."

At this I again attempted to stand, but she once again directed me back into the chair. She nodded toward the boys and Ron came over. Instead of taking her station though, he pulled a small hassock over and sat upon it. This put us almost at eye level and I noticed his eyes were not those of his sister. They were Prewett hazel. He smiled ruefully at me, sitting there with his father's infuriating patience. I felt myself again before the court.

"You are more like my son than you might expect, Mr. Weasley."

At this he flinched visibly.

"Please do not judge Draco too harshly. Despite your rocky relations, none of this is his doing or his fault. He doesn't deserve what has been dealt him."

He lowered his gaze, but still followed me through russet lashes. "I don't know what he deserves. And I don't know what's going on. So I can't really judge, can I?"

His sister crept up to his side, also watching me intently. I understood. They wished answers from me. Their parents had evidently deemed them too young to know such things in detail. It was reassuring to know I wasn't the only one guilty of overprotecting my child. But still, I would have to make this as delicate as I could.

"Lammas is the Sabbat of harvest; which means death and rebirth. They will sacrifice Draco in order to transfer his magic to the Dark Lord-"

"Voldemort!" Potter spat, pacing toward us. "They're going to _try_ to sacrifice him for Voldemort. Quit assuming they'll win and quit using that title for him, because you're still giving him respect and he doesn't deserve it!"

He stormed across the room with an oddly familiar carriage and it seemed he might strike at me. But it was Ginny who dealt the blow.

"How could his mum let that happen?"

I sank back into the chair and stared at the ceiling so I wouldn't have to meet her eyes. How indeed could she? I had no heart to explain such things to children.

"Tell them. They're old enough to know." This from my niece, now sporting a tangle of indigo hair.

I sighed.

"Because there is more than one path to immortality, and – Voldemort," I fixed my gaze pointedly at Potter, "will take every path available to power. As yet, he has no heir. Bellatrix, despite her desire to be his most ardent follower, is in no position to give him one, having been ruined by her years in Azkaban. Therefore a replacement became necessary. Since Bellatrix could not carry on his line herself, Narcissa must have deemed herself the best alternate. I was supposed to conveniently remain incarcerated, until my own heir was slaughtered. Then, she would have rights to all my family holdings upon my demise."

"But Bellatrix is married." Little Ginny had started the discussion, but seemed to have missed many of the salient points.

"Yes. And so is Narcissa," I spat. "The difference between the two marriages is that Rodolphus would have celebrated such a violation, whereas I would never stand for it. And that is precisely why Draco is in such danger. For the house of Malfoy must be swept clean before the house of Voldemort can replace it."

Ginny had been gaping at this but shut her mouth with the last. It clamped into a thin line as she stood. I had expected another naïve questioning of my claims, but she had none. Instead, she turned toward Granger who had been standing quietly near the fire. In a voice colder than I could have expected of her she intoned, "Hermione?"

Who simply nodded, "He's alive, Ginny."

"Ginny? 'Mione?" Ron was standing now. "What did you do?"

Ginny ignored him. "Mr. Malfoy, sir. We'd think we'd know if your son wasn't still alive."

"What have you two done?"

"We practiced, Ron. All right?" Hermione puffed like an angry Kneazle. "We had to know if it would work, and I thought perhaps we could do two things at once. So we went where no one would notice. Ginny and I- And Luna, because we needed three. But I didn't know-" She held out her arms helplessly. "Honestly, how could any of us _know_!"

"We snuck into Hogwarts during Litha and performed a Binding rite," Ginny cut in simply.

"A Binding rite! Are you mad!"

Hermione placed his hand on Ron's forearm. "It was only supposed to give him a bit of strength. Help support him a little. No love, no bond. What could be simpler?"

The Weasley boy's face was almost white, "But something went wrong, didn't it?"

She shrunk away from him. "I didn't know. I just didn't know…"

His voice was oddly calm. "What went wrong, Hermione?"

"He accepted it, Ron."

"HE WHAT?" He and Potter were both yelling, but the redheaded boy had my attention. If I wasn't so fantastically stunned by the turn of events I would certainly have retreated from wand range.

"Merlin's Beard!" Nymphadora sparked her wand to stop the confusion. "Everybody calm down this instant!"

"Who, 'Mione! Who bonded?" He seemed agitated, but no longer dangerous. "Just tell me it was Luna…"

I certainly hoped that was not the case. But I didn't need an answer. I knew who it was, even before I observed Hermione's defiant stance.

"Me, Ron! I did it! I would do it again, too, if that's what has kept him alive." She crossed her arms against her chest. "I needed to make sure I could do it before we needed to- I needed to _know_, all right? We'd just received that missive and I thought, well, what can it hurt-?" She began to chew on her bottom lip in contrition.

Potter gently took her by the shoulders. She gazed at him a moment before dropping her eyes. "It does hurt, though. You can't imagine..." She began to curl into herself, folding her arms tightly against her chest.

So, she could sense my son through the bond she forged. In her arrogance, the girl never even considered that Draco might have welcomed her attention. For all her brilliance, she was a fool. But she was also his best hope. This shock, following too quickly on the heels of the first, left me feeling less stable than even the events of the previous week.

I stood, garnering no resistance from the others. After one warning glance, Potter moved off slightly, allowing me to place my hands on her shoulders as I looked into her eyes. In that unguarded moment, I found so much emotion I lost my way, falling into them. Only by stepping backward could I regain my own composure. I brushed her cheek.

"You did this on Litha?"

She nodded.

"Were you aware he was a Midsummer's child?"

She shook her head weakly, but gave me no verbal answer. I should have castigated her for binding herself into a pure bloodline. But I could not. I tried to find the words to thank her, to offer her a wizard's debt, but I had none. No one had ever given him such a precious birthday present.

"_You pay a great deal too dear for what's given freely."_

She bit her lip again then burst suddenly into tears. The two boys ran to her immediately, pressing me aside in the process. I watched them fawn over her, trying to understand the dynamic between them.

"You needn't worry, you know. She couldn't care for him."

I turned to Ginny, surprised just how much of Riddle was in her now cold demeanor. Behind her, Nymphadora shook her head desperately at me. The Order had underestimated the children and she knew it. Her fears were my aspirations however, for there might also be a contingency for escaping this house.

"Perhaps that's exactly why I should worry."

"Draco has never been anything but rude and cruel. After sneaking your letter we even discussed whether he deserved our help at all." She made a face, and I was all too aware which side of the discussion had been hers. "Hermione only bonded with him to save his life."

"But she did it all the same."

"Yes, she did. I really hope it wasn't a mistake."

I tried to keep my voice level. "That is my son you regret aiding."

"It's just that we had no idea he would need quite so much of it." The darkness left her as she turned fawn eyes upon me then toward the three of them. "What if there's not enough left when others need her more?"

"You would even talk of trivial affairs when Draco's life is in such jeopardy?"

"I am talking about the survival of the entire wizarding race, Mr. Malfoy. Next to that, how can any one of us matter?"

"Ginny! We ALL matter!" Nymphadora's voice was almost as shrill as my wife's.

"No, Tonks. We don't. We're all parts of the whole. That's what matters," Ginny laughed, scaring both of us. "That's why we'll win. Because we know this and HE doesn't. HE can only think in terms of one, of taking not giving. I know this firsthand. "

"I see," my niece managed to stammer. I must admit that, in the moment, she was more eloquent than me.

"Mr. Malfoy? I'm afraid we need your room tonight. But you probably already figured that out." She dismissed me as if she was the Minister, then transformed once again to a child. "Harry?"

He nodded, touching Hermione gently on the chin. She straightened her shoulders and ran from the room. He came over to us, glancing quickly from Ginny to me and nodding.

"Tonks, you have to trust us. We have some things we need to prepare and I think it might be best if we get it done now. It looks like it's going to be tonight."

"Hell of a birthday, Harry." Ron patted his shoulder as they disappeared down the hall.

"Yeah. Let's hope I have a better one next year."

He, Ron and Ginny were already retreating toward the ground floor. Nymphadora and I traded one final confused glance before following our Stephen of Cloyes down the stairs.

The chair in my room had already been cast aside, and the Verulam carpet beneath it had been carelessly tossed across its seat. Hermione sat in the middle of the revealed floorboards. A pentagram had been carved into the wood. I chided myself for missing the obvious, but watched anxiously as she continued the rite. Slowly, the floor began to awaken and glow.

"It's ready, Harry. We just need a way out of the house."

"Tonks!" Moody's voice bellowed from the kitchen, interrupting the interlude.

"Moody! In here."

He rushed into the room, wand out beneath a bundle of black cloaking. Starting a bit at the pentagram, he grunted and placed his load on the bed. "Like clockwork, Malfoy. You described them exactly. Every step..."

I threw myself toward the bed, and slid back the layers to face my son. Draco was alive but his eyes were vacant. Blood seeped from the cloth that surrounded him.

"Draco!" I cried even as I cradled his head. Then I began to repeat his name in low tones as I rocked him. Finally, there was a slight flicker from his face. For an instant, he was aware, but then it was gone. I don't know how long I held him, brushing my hand through his hair and murmuring platitudes to calm him as if he were still with me. An argument seemed to be raging around me, and finally I looked up.

Moody and Potter were standing nose to nose, with the other children behind Potter, except Hermione still carefully tending her fire. Tonks had been joined by Emmeline Vance and they were carefully off to the side, horror written across their faces. I noted with satisfaction that Vance was dripping blood from the bottom of her impeccable robes. She had not been high on my social list the past few months.

"I can and I will! The time has come and we both know it!"

Potter was in full fury now, his carefully checked emotion broken open. He spun from Moody to stalk across the tiny room. Still shielding my son, I shrank back.

Potter moved like Voldemort.

I could not take my eyes from him. He was no longer a sixteen-year-old boy to me.

"Harry, please, lad…"

"NO. We've planned for this. I'm going back there with you! Hermione!"

We all watched, mesmerized, as she returned to the rite and the glow erupted into a white flame through which glittered various flashes of color. She stepped into it, reaching out her hand.

"Harry?" her voice faltered, either from the magic or from fear.

"NO!" Vance staggered forward, but Ron caught her.

"I'm sorry, ma'am. It's really for the best."

I realized as they touched, that she was transferring her power to him. Ron patted Vance lightly on the shoulder, smiled sadly, and then stepped into the light next to Hermione.

"Well, mate, You better get him this time or we'll never make House Cup again."

He gave Potter his hand.

Moody was breathing heavily, his eyes so wide I wondered which might fall out first. Potter turned to him.

"You see now? We've planned for this." His voice resonated through the enclosed space as if it were too large for the room.

I tried to recoil from the blasphemy. But instead my gaze fell again upon my son's face. Who would have been dead had it not been for the three girls… Three. They needed three.

I kissed Draco gently upon the forehead.

Before I knew what I was doing, I was inside the marking on the floor. Wind roared past my ears as if I was flying a broom. I clenched my jaw and flung forward my arm.

"Take mine as well!"

I could see his green eyes through a haze of blue. Stunned, then accepting. He gripped my hand and I could feel my life drain from me. My body tried to fight for survival, but instead I forced every bit of strength into Potter. He staggered backward. Then Hermione's hands were upon me and I realized I had fallen.

The aura had dissipated and the fire was gone. So were Moody and Potter.

"Gone."

A cup was placed to my lips and I drank. I looked up to find not Hermione but Vance supporting me. I forced myself away from her hold.

"Just ginger tea." She smiled. "I'm a bit afraid to give you anything stronger in your state."

In my state, indeed. I pulled myself into a sitting position and from there to the chair, which I admit was much more difficult without magic supporting my right knee. Everything seemed more difficult. But the tea cleared my head enough for me to survey the situation.

"I must have blacked out from the exchange."

"Yeah. You gave Harry everything, didn't you?" Ginny's face was peaked and she looked near tears. I realized perhaps she was supposed to be the third benefactor.

"Of course. What advantage could there be to retaining any?" My attention was on Draco again. They must have given him something for he was resting easily now in Hermione's arms. This gave me hope that his mind was intact. But there was blood across his cheek, making me reluctant to consider the physical damage. I was too terrified of what I might find.

"But what if-?" She couldn't finish the sentence. I kept my eyes carefully on my son.

"If your Mr. Potter doesn't win, then I will die anyway. I might as well die without my magic as with it. And perchance, if I am captured they will overestimate my tolerances if they are unaware I have no defense."

Miss. Vance gasped, and following the sound I truly saw her. There was an elegance about her that even the bandages now crisscrossing her wand arm couldn't diminish. In my distraction, I noted she was actually a rather attractive witch. However, those bandages enclosed an iron fist and I railed at her with what energy I had left.

"Why does that alarm you, Miss Vance? Your own Wizengamot condemned me only a few months ago. Surely I haven't changed the sentence, only the duration. Do you really think it's kinder to keep one locked in such a deplorable state indefinitely?"

I arched a brow at her and she shook her head ever so slightly. I yearned to ruin her faultless demeanor, but Ginny began to cry, turning all of our thoughts to her champion.

At that moment my left arm caught fire. I slipped to my knees even as I tore at my robe sleeve. The Mark had never burned so. It was as if He were trying to rip away my very life source.

"He's drawing power! Taking it from his followers… Potter must be on him!" I panted, trying to get enough air into my lungs to say more. It was as if a fever had come upon me suddenly and I began to claw at my forearm in my desperation.

There was clamoring around me, and suddenly Ron was wrenching my right hand from my arm. But my blood slickened things, making it easy for me to slide from his grip. But before I could resume slashing, Hermione appeared and stabbed me straight in the middle of the Morsmordre.

It was as if she had locked me away inside my own body.

I could feel myself scream as I slid the rest of the way to the floor. The rending and burning became distant as I felt the support of the wood against my back and skull. A sudden calmness slid over me, and I merely watched in horrified fascination as the others came in and out of my field of vision, appearing and disappearing around some shining Muggle contraption sticking from my arm like a Quiddich pennant.

That was when the adder erupted from it, toppling the strange silver device in the process. I would have certainly screamed again at that, but I could no longer act at all.

Hermione however, vaulted backward, shrieking. The room erupted in a chaos that ended with Ron holding aloft a gory poker from the fireplace.

"Ron!" she was sobbing. I could hear her sniffling even if I could no longer see her.

'It's spiders I'm scared of, 'Mione. Snakes don't bother me a bit." He slammed the poker down once more for effect.

Then her face was above me once more, blocking the rest of the scene. There was gravity in her honey brown eyes.

"Venom! We need an anti-serum!"

In the back of my mind, I felt an echo of what was happening in Salisbury. My son was safe. That was enough. I relaxed against the boards and slipped from consciousness.

"_You pay a great deal too dear for what's given freely."_

"A Winter's Tale" (Act 1, Scene 1) Shakespeare.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

"_I will open my mouth in parable: I will utter dark sayings of old:_

_Which we have heard and known, and our fathers have told us."_

_Psalm 78_

The sun was shining through the window again when I woke up. I hadn't expected to wake up at all, so I was quite taken aback by it.

The bed had been moved at some point, and now lay directly over the pentagram. If I had any doubt about the nature of the carving, the sunlight filtering across the duvet would have dispelled it. I noted with some small satisfaction that Draco was curled next to me on top of the bedclothes, reminding me of happier days when he would come to us for security. I watched as his lashes brushed against his cheek while he dreamed, then gently swept my hand along his hairline.

"Oh, Draco. My precious son. I would have died for you."

He opened sleepy eyes to meet mine.

"They say you almost did." He yawned and stretched, slowly uncurling himself in the sun. I gasped to see a gash along his face and neck, half revealed by his hair.

Suddenly awake, he dipped his head guiltily. "I'm sorry, Father. Please don't be mad at me. I just-"

He shrugged. "They gave me a bed upstairs, but I don't sleep there. I…" He shrugged again to cover his wince, as he cast his eyes toward me. "Nightmares," he finished simply.

I nodded reassuringly. I had seen the same expression on Potter's face only a few nights ago.

"I understand, Draco. And I'm not half as worried about propriety as I used to be. I won't send you from me if you wish to stay." I brushed an errant strand from his face to better examine the forming scar. "Had I been a better father you wouldn't be having nightmares."

He started to say something, then simply lay back down again. "Thank you, Father."

We remained upon the bed for a few minutes while I contemplated exactly how improper this might be construed. But my son was alive and seemed whole enough. Measured against that, I cared little enough for what others might think. The thought of others then bade a question about his statement.

"Draco? You said they gave you a bed upstairs?"

"Yes, Father."

"How, er, how long have you been here?" Other details surrounding the night of his arrival came back to me, making my hands turn chill. I tentatively touched my left forearm, sliding up the cloth to note that the Morsmordre was still present. The lines of the skull were faint, but visible. Of the snake, there was no sign.

"A little over a week, Father. I don't remember the first few days though. I missed most of the celebrations."

"And I managed to sleep through it." I traced the lines that discolored my flesh, careful not to display how this thought distressed me.

"They were dying off before I got a chance to see them, either. But they say there is still a Catherine Wheel burning in Hogsmeade," he offered, misplacing my regret.

"I don't believe I'd be up for any celebrations right now, Draco. Thank you."

"Oh." While he gathered his thoughts, I wondered if he was disoriented or simply sixteen. "You were evidently hurt pretty badly, but they wouldn't say more. Mr. Weasley told me not to worry though, because you've slept longer. He said you slept in here almost two weeks straight when you first arrived from Azkaban."

I lost interest in my son's mental state, suddenly contemplating my own. My eye shot to the windowpane. Curse Dumbledore with his constant manipulations. No wonder I had felt so unhinged. They had kept me constantly immersed in white magic for weeks. It's a wonder my brain hadn't pickled. Draco followed my stare with interest.

"It's beautiful, isn't it, Father?" He had a rather wistful look on his face as he gazed at the window.

"You are aware of what that is?" I asked, surprised.

He looked at me slightly askance, but smiled. "Sunlight."

Sixteen, I decided.

He shut his eyes. I watched him until his breathing told me he was asleep. As I watched the soft rise and fall of his chest, I resolved to forgive Dumbledore his scheming if it could help Draco heal.

Gently passing my hand once more across his hair, I sat up. I didn't feel as if I'd been asleep for so long. Of course, I hadn't the last time, either. Just like the inhabitants of this mercurial place not to inform me of such a simple fact. I wondered what other details they deemed too unimportant to mention.

A quiet tapping on the door interrupted my thoughts. Spying my cane, I made my way toward the door even as it slipped open.

"Miss Vance," I greeted her in low tones.

She looked past me to my son, then back as I stepped in her line-of-sight to Draco. She merely inclined her head to acknowledge my defense.

"Mr. Malfoy. We thought you might be awake."

"I see." And I did indeed. I wondered which of Moody's toys was even now active in the room. I said nothing else, but simply motioned her out into the hall. We stood there silently for several minutes.

Finally, she pursed her lips slightly and stepped closer to me.

"Honestly, Mr. Malfoy. Aren't you even the slightest bit anxious about the events that have transpired?"

I considered this for a moment, but shook my head.

"I know everything that I might need to of my future. Since I can feel my magic, Potter must have certainly survived. If he survived, then the Dark- then Voldemort did not. My son is removed from Narcissa and seems healthy. He will be safe and that is quite sufficient. Regardless of what _events have transpired_, I will be returned to Azkaban. There I will most likely be killed by the Death Eaters captured during the battle. I see no reason why I should wish to know any more details."

She touched a gloved hand to my face, turning it slightly. Scrutinizing.

"You are not the wizard you once were. Where is that arrogant lord that sat before me in Courtroom Ten? Where is your thirst for knowledge?"

I raised my chin, removing it from her grasp. "One learns to get by on less in times of war."

"Or perhaps one learns to curb excessive appetites in Azkaban."

I narrowed my eyes. "We'll see what kind of appetites the other prisoners have when I am returned."

She returned my look in kind. "There will be no Death Eaters in Azkaban."

"Has it been destroyed then?"

Vance shook her head, dashing my nascent hopes. "No. It is simply unnecessary. The Death Eaters are all beyond Ministry jurisdiction."

"Except for me."

"Except for you." she echoed, then tilted her head slightly. "No, I don't really think you could be qualified as a Death Eater anymore."

"I'm still marked," I hissed, tapping my sleeve to echo her actions on my first night in the house.

"That's not a Mark, it's a scar. You lost your master when you gave Harry your magic and your ideology when you let Hermione inject that Muggle concoction into your arm."

"Let!" I snorted. It had been one of the worst pains I had ever endured.

"She said she asked your permission."

"That girl nearly killed me!" I snarled, as the last moments of the evening came crashing back to me.

"I beg to differ. I believe she saved your life." She pointed to my forearm. "The specimen from your arm, or what was left after Ron dispatched it, was a death adder. Hermione's something-o-cane forced it from your body before it could release its full dose of poison. Then she was quick-witted enough for us to conjure the proper potions."

"Of course. Simply the brightest witch of her age."

"You would do better to lose your sarcasm. Perhaps you might then grasp that most other Death Eaters were not so fortunate as to have her protection."

I collected myself as I realized what she was saying. The Dark Lord must have betrayed his own followers at the last. My memories of the evening took on a decidedly different cast given this new information. "Ah. No wonder Azkaban is so empty."

"Yes. Once Voldemort fell, only you and Snape survived." She arched an eyebrow quite effectively. "Since he was working for the Order, one might have thought he would have shared with us his thoughts on keeping anti-venom potions to hand."

"I think that depends entirely on who was doing the thinking. I certainly wouldn't have expected him to do so."

"No. I suppose not," she smiled sadly. "But there would be so many fewer orphans to deal with had he bothered."

"When has Snape ever concerned himself with children?"

We stood silent once again.

"And my wife?"

"She never took the Mark, did she? But that will matter little, soon enough. Your estate fell out of Fidelius in the confusion and we had some hit wizards block it from re-enchantment, although we still can't penetrate the grounds."

"And?"

"And she's played her hand very, very well. She's now the submissive woman who was forced into her actions. A prisoner in her own home with her child held hostage." Vance waved her hand in irritation. "We can't charge her with anything unless you wish your son to file grievance. Then it would be considered a family matter by the Ministry, which is very busy with family matters at present. So they can do nothing."

Her stately air gave just a little under the effect of her hardening expression.

"The Order, however, feels we owe you a debt. Meanwhile, the Ministry deemed it necessary to keep Malfoy Mansion Plottable. You see, we fear the poor woman's evil husband- if he's still alive- might return there to finish the job his master started. So we simply must keep the estate out in the open if we are to catch him."

"So I will face the Aurors as soon as I finish this."

"Yes, of course. You are a renegade convict. But now let's get some nourishment in you. I have the feeling you might need to build your strength."

I bowed with much more respect than I felt necessary. "You will excuse me while I change into more appropriate attire then. After all, I must relinquish that luxury soon enough."

"Do not toy with me, Mr. Malfoy. I don't care much for most of your games."

"My apologies. But I am unaware of my offense."

She appraised me once more. "Could it be that you actually are?"

But before I could compose a proper retort she had laid a cleaning charm upon me and transfigured my clothes. They pressed against me with the weight of proper cloth and I knew instantly that I was in suitable robes for the first time in months. Furtively, I touched a hand to the luxuriant fabric, marveling in its sensuality. Yet one more loss I had suffered in my fall.

"I must make a point of offending you, I think." I studied the Tyrian dye wistfully.

"Does purple distress you? I only find it so much more palatable than that cinnabar and black you tend to favor."

"My robes will be white and black soon enough."

"But your son will be safe. That was our arrangement."

"Yes, of course." I dismissed the serve, no longer wishing to nettle her. Something more important had occurred to me. "Am I correct in assuming that as a Ministry representative, you would be able to bind a contract for his guardianship should something untoward happen to his mother?"

"Something untoward? I had forgotten what a talent you had for euphemism." She replied, swirling her wand in the air to create a smoky glass orb. "Your statement of will is ready to be cast."

"I, Lucius Malfoy, present that it is my wish for my only son Draco Malfoy, should neither birth parent be able to care for him, to fall under guardianship of Arthur and Molly Weasley and such funds provided them from my estate that the Weasley family suffer no hardship for his presence until such time as he can reach his own recognizance. Such is my intent."

The orb snapped to a translucent green as I finished. Miss Vance lost her elegant demeanor for an instant, staring at me as if I were a boggart, but recovered quickly and slipped the orb into a fold of her robes. "Sometimes I must remind myself with whom I am dealing, lest I get caught by your caprices."

"Constant vigilance, Miss Vance," I quipped. "I trust that your allegiance to the Ministry will keep you discreet?"

She pressed a hand across her face, nodding slightly. "Come. Let's join the others in the kitchen."

I cracked the door slightly to check on my child. Thus reassured, I followed her.

The kitchen was a most appropriate location, as it seemed I was upon the tines of a fork. Despite Miss Vance's assumptions, I really had two paths before me. The Order expected me to go after my wife and then return to Azkaban. However, I could also take Draco and quietly disappear into the mists. In their usual version of guile, they never spoke of the second option directly, but it had obviously come up for discussion and had some acceptance among the group. Phrases were couched in such a way as "if I chose to return to the Mansion" or "if I chose to send my son back to Hogwarts." No wonder Vance had intercepted me first. As a Ministry employee she would be best served by my completion of the original agreement.

In all honesty, I do believe there was less candor among them than at a Death-Eater meeting. Yet more proof that the old ways had come to nothing. But I have always been a wizard of the old ways, and a wizard of code. There really was no way forward for me but straight through the center and back into Azkaban. When I grew bored with the conversation I finally made a statement to that effect. If the Order really wanted to help, they could supply me with a Portkey and a wand.

The wand appeared the next evening. Again, it was Miss Vance who took the initiative and stopped by Ollivander's on her way from the Ministry. I worried about her interest in my case, as no doubt I would face her across a bench in a few days' time.

But there were advantages to catching the attention of one from the same echelon. The wand was beautiful, a Dragon Heart string with a power that sung to me; twelve inches exactly and wonderfully sinister despite its pliable rowan exterior.

"An interesting choice." I marveled at the way it felt in my hand, so different from the rather inflexible ebony to which I was inclined. There was something about its give that intrigued me, and I was certain it felt more potent.

"Yes, well. I know you have always carried ebony. But so does Ollivander, I'm sure. And while he is discreet, asking him to ignore the sale of a particularly exotic wand while you are at large is beyond what we could ask of him." She colored ever so slightly. "So, I selected you a wand to match your cane."

I thanked her for her consideration, trying to dispel the awkwardness of such an intimate gesture. I was a little unnerved she knew my core, but the power emanating from this one made my breath quicken. She had chosen me a most impressive wand and I retreated to my cell to consider its implications.

"I resented Potter's scar."

I looked up from where I was reclining. Draco was examining his face in the mirror, once again assessing the damage. Most of it would be hidden by his locks as long as he let them grow, but he had them pulled his hair back to better scrutinize his neck.

"I take it you no longer feel that way?"

"What is the use? Everything Vol…" He shuddered, still unable to say the name "Everything HE touched, he scarred." Draco let his hair slip back against his neck. I wondered what other damage he was hiding with that movement. "Potter is a hero. I am nothing but a victim."

"Draco… Don't label yourself so."

"It's not important anyway. You always said labels are better left for the dead."

"And what will you label me after mine?"

"Father." There was a slight hint of a smirk upon his lips, so I decided I might press him a bit for information.

"And your mother?"

His eyes narrowed, but he didn't answer. He returned to tracing the raised wound on his neck and we fell back into silence for several minutes. I lost my inclination to push him and waited for him to once again drop his guard.

"Father, do you blame her?"

"Unequivocally, Draco. I will make her pay for what she's done to you. I swear it upon my life."

He whirled from the mirror in a panic, his face reminding me of the first time we had gone hunting. Then he shook his head. "No, Father. Not Mother, Hermione. Do you blame Hermione?"

"Ah." This was a discussion I would rather not have. "There was reason to her actions, Draco. And it could only have eased your suffering."

"But we're still bound."

"Only until next June."

"You blame me then."

I sighed. He could be annoyingly perceptive at times. "You did nothing. How could you, imprisoned under the house?"

"But she couldn't have-"

"Draco, I've known you desired her since second year. You nattered on about her constantly." I pressed my temples with a hand. Actually having this discussion was doing nothing to lessen my dread of it.

"No, I hated her second year."

"Passion is passion, Draco. When you're young you can't distinguish one sort from another. Even for adults it's not always obvious."

"Like you and Mother?"

"No. That's perfectly evident. The hatred I have for her is cold enough to crack stone."

"Good." There was a finality in his voice which settled the subject. "But that doesn't change the fact that I'm bound to a Muggle-born witch."

"An interesting choice of words."

"I've learned how powerful words can be."

I felt the sting even though I knew it was directed to the other side of his family. I had failed to protect him from them, and I knew that no amount of action on my part could ever truly rectify that. "Yes. I see you have."

"I don't think she would ever try to kill me."

"I doubt you thought your mother would, either."

He lowered his eyes and I immediately repented my words.

"Draco, I apologize. You have been used cruelly this summer and I don't mean to make light of such things. But you are young. You can't fully appreciate the scheme of things."

"I can't fully appreciate what a barmy old hag spouted two hundred years ago? Don't denigrate me so."

"It was written. Until a few months ago, it was even residing safely in the Ministry. You can't change a future that has already been cast."

"It hasn't been cast! There are too many variables. What if-," his voice fell. "What if she was… damaged in the Ministry attack? She was in the hospital wing after, Father. But no one would say why."

"You've thought about this."

"I had a lot of time to think."

I knew I deserved that for my careless speech a moment ago. "I don't quite think failure to produce an heir counts as destruction."

"It will end our line."

He stated it so simply that a part of me wanted to rise up and shake him until he reconsidered. But I did nothing. In his mind they had already completed their bonding. If I took action against her, it would destroy him as well. I had already lost, leaving only the question of how many moves were left me. Instead, I tipped my king. I was done hexing the tide. "Then she will end our line. There are worse ways to fade into history."

"Do you really believe that?"

"No. But if you do, that is enough."

"Haven't you faith in anything?" He laughed vacantly as he said this, yet another oddity to his personality that troubled me. I wondered if this was a product of his ordeal or his bond.

"Not yet, Draco. But I'm trying."

"Well, I do." He took my hand, which unnerved me a bit. "She was with me, Father. She whispered to me. I could hear her voice in the darkness and sometimes that's all that kept me sane, knowing she was there for me. I wish you could realize…" He gasped in frustration as he lost his words, letting my hand slip from his grasp.

"I understand. Truly, I do. I have seen the power of proper bonding and I appreciate she's a most worthy companion. I just wish that it was enough to change the future."

"It already has!" Draco flung himself backwards onto the bed, staring at the ceiling. It was somewhat of a relief to see him petulant as I constantly wished for any sign of his recovery, though I would have preferred that it were something less serious about which he was acting so bullheaded.

I bowed my head to him in mock-formality and picked up my cane. "I need to finalize some details upstairs. Shall you be in here long?" Seeing the slight hardening of his jaw, I didn't allow him time for an answer. "That is fine. I'll come rouse you before dinner."

With that I left him to the gentle care of the room.

I found Hermione in their sitting room playing cards with Ginny. With one look at my face however, Ginny made some outlandish excuse and bolted for the door.

Hermione stood slowly, obviously gathering her courage. "I've been expecting this conversation."

"I doubt you have."

"I really thought it would happen immediately. But then there was all the trouble on Lammas and then…" She waved her hands a bit before dropping them to cross her chest. She still couldn't look at me.

"Hermione, I have just had a rather difficult conversation with my son. I would prefer this one be a little less tedious."

Anger colored her cheeks, but at least she finally met my eyes. "What do you want me to say?"

"Nothing. I want you to listen."

"I can't break it. Not until June. I'll just keep silent about it."

"That is not listening."

"Maybe I don't want to hear! Don't you think I've heard enough about it over the years! Do you want me to say it with you? I think I know this all already!"

"Sit!"

She sat, staring at her hands in her lap and sniffling a bit from her outburst.

"Yes. You've performed a bit of a wandpoint handfast. Certainly that is a tad embarrassing, but if my son has a brain in his head he'll announce it like it was his idea. If he's truly intelligent, he'll convince you to renew it with him next year."

She glared at me half-heartedly. "But he won't _because_…"

"Oh. I have no idea if he will or won't. He's a most headstrong boy and I really have little control over his whims. But I do know that he cares for you. He has cared for you, even before you took to prancing around the Forbidden Forest."

"Stop it! Just say what you're going to say and leave me to it."

I paced a bit, trying to get a bearing on exactly what I wanted to say to her. But my pause affected her aversely and I heard her start to sniffle again. Such a difficult age; a woman one minute, a child the next. I finally spied young Weasley's hassock and opted to sit in front of her chair that I might see her face without demanding her lift it. This startled her into meeting my eyes.

"The truth is I am quite afraid of you, my dear." There was no sense waiting for her reply, as it would most likely not add anything to our exchange. "The Malfoys have been expecting you for some time. You were prophesized."

The eyes narrowed. "The Mudblood who would taint your precious heir?"

"No. The Muggle-born witch who would destroy the entire family. I can recite the prophecy to you if you wish. I had it drilled verbatim throughout my childhood."

"That's quite all right. I don't believe in prophecies," she sniffed.

"Didn't you believe in Potter's?"

To my horror my son slipped into the room. I should have realized that he would feel her distress and come search her out. He appraised me coldly, but started when he realized I had allowed my head lower than Hermione's. This froze him in his place.

"That's different. Most prophecies are too fluffy to understand without a lot of guesswork. His was pretty clear and concise."

"Was it now?" I really felt a debate on that subject was warranted, but I held my tongue on the matter. The issue at hand was simply too important.

"Oh. Well, I suppose it had some guesswork, too."

"Did you believe it?

She chewed her lip for a few minutes. Behind her, I could see Draco lean against the door jamb and we both awaited her decision. Finally, she shook her head. "Tell me."

I nodded. As I spoke the words, I deliberately kept my intonation blank. "_The darkness will never take the Malfoys, for they have already taken the Darkness. Through dark lords and devastation they prevail. It will take a Muggle-born witch with love in her heart to destroy the House of Malfoy. She will raze it to the ground._"

****"That's it?"

"That's not enough? It predicts the absolute destruction of my family."

"Put that way, I guess it is. I don't know. I just expected, well, something more dramatic."

"I suppose I could impersonate the woman who prophesied it, if you wish. I have certainly seen it in a Pensieve enough. I doubt you would enjoy it though, for she sounded quite like her great-great-granddaughter and I'm told you don't care much for her."

She smiled slightly at that and this relieved me more than I would care to admit. Behind her, I could see Draco relax slightly.

Hermione sighed. "No wonder you hate me."

"I don't hate you. I fear you. It's entirely different."

"The end result is the same."

"Let's hope not. I fear you. I hate Narcissa."

Hermione absently brought a hand to her face, nibbling at her thumbnail. "Will you kill her?"

"Perhaps." By the door, Draco tensed. "Perhaps she will kill me first, but that will land her in Azkaban. Either way I will avenge my son's treatment."

"Is it that important to you?"

"_He_ is that important to me. He is my son, the most precious thing in my life. I would easily kill or be killed to ensure his safety."

"And where does that leave me?"

"That depends entirely on whether you believe in prophecies."

She stood then, and Draco fled the room.

"I don't know whether I believe in them. I don't like that the future is already cast. If it is, what's the point of any of this?" Her nail biting became more violent, and I finally reached a hand out to stop her, careful to grasp her sleeve.

She froze, staring at her arm.

"I will let go if you agree to stop harming yourself."

"You're touching me."

Her confusion must have been contagious. "Miss Granger. I would no more make contact with a young witch than parade around as a Niffler."

"Oh! I thought you were just saying that because you thought I was so far beneath you."

"No, Miss Granger. Mixing of essences is inappropriate. Do they teach you nothing at that school? The magic becomes enmeshed."

"But you _gave_ your power to Harry!"

"Yes. I did. But my rank, my freedom, my wife and my child had already been stripped from me. Was it so much of a stretch to abandon my honor as well?"

"You have Draco back."

I nodded absently. "For now."

She folded the cuff of her sleeve over my hand and placed her own on top of it. "I didn't mean this to happen. Any of it. But I'm not sorry. He only has to ask next June and I'll say yes."

"Why are you telling me this, Miss Granger?"

"Because you don't think you'll be around to see it, do you? Otherwise you wouldn't be telling me this now. I figured you should know that I'll be there for him."

"You really are entirely too perceptive."

She colored slightly. "If that were true, I would have known about Draco."

"Not so. You just never bothered to look."

"Well, don't worry. I'm looking out for him now."

With a shy smile, she slipped her hand from mine and left me.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

"_For he who avenges blood remembers them. __He doesn't forget the cry of the afflicted"_

_Psalm 9_

I wanted the confrontation with my wife over as soon as possible. It had already been nearly a fortnight since the fall of Voldemort, and I did not want to give her more time to plot. The Order had some misgivings about my rush to battle, but Dumbledore supported my actions and, as always, that ended any debate.

Thus it was that I found myself at my own front gates a few nights later. Narcissa had evidently refused even an Auror on the property, so several lounged near the main gates and I was assured by Moody that more were positioned at various posts around the property.

"And you expected that to be enough security?" I asked most imperiously. So much for his preaching.

Moody turned his blue eye to me. "Well, we _are_ protecting her from you. But I think some more Aurors might turn up should anything happen. I've heard it's a slow night in Hogsmeade."

He let me pass without escort, so I circled the lands until I was far into a stand of trees. There I lay my wand against an oak and tapped.

The siege gates rose before me. I slipped through them into the foyer and quickly hid the portal. Once I completed my responsibilities, it would be my only chance to evade Azkaban.

"Narcissa dearest, I've returned for you…" I whispered to myself, whistling in the graveyard.

I was met by silence in the foyer, which was to be expected. She wanted me to come to her like she always did. What was not expected was the charnel stench. A lesser man should have run, or attempted to cover his face from this onslaught to the senses. As my entrails revolted, even I wished for a moment that I had taken the coward's road and left this place to its fate. But I was a Malfoy, and this was Malfoy ancestral demesnes. Instead, I turned my attention to the probable source seeping across the Carrara floor.

"_Evil shall slay the wicked_."

I nudged the body over to identify it, but the state of putrefaction was deplorable. After a few minutes examination I finally surmised it was Phillip Crabbe, once a near tenant in my house. His face, always plump, had bloated in death and was beginning to exude fluids, which would no doubt stain the marble. I left him to this final abuse of my hospitality and continued toward the drawing room. If Narcissa was going to give me the luxury of waiting for my arrival, I wanted to use that time to finish something else.

"_Alohomora_."

The flagstone rose and slipped across its neighbor. The steps below were steep and curved, but the musty smell emanating from them was actually a bit of a relief after the foyer. I lit my wand, descending warily in case of a trap. But the little room was abandoned. It had seen much recent activity though, as the dust was disturbed from many of the devices. Moreover they seemed to have been lubricated with a liberal amount of blood. I studied the room, trying to discern exactly what had happened to Draco. He had yet to speak in direct terms of his experiences, preferring to bury them under the peculiar personality he had constructed since Lammas. As much as I detested this examination, I felt it was my duty to know what had been done to my son. I spent some time there, going over the instruments before retreating to the drawing room. It had been painful enough that I almost brought the chamber down behind me, but I caught myself. It was no longer my right. I would leave its fate to Draco. I left the stone upended for the Aurors, instead turning my attention to the crystal decanters on the sideboard. Poisoned or not, I needed the firewhisky.

Once I had steeled my nerves a bit, I considered my position. She would await my arrival either in the ballroom or in our private chambers dependent upon whether she considered this a public or a private confrontation. I hoped fervently for the former, as the personal betrayal was still too deep. I doubted I was impassive enough to face her in the bed chambers. So I headed for the ballroom.

Fate was kind for that was where I found her, holding court over a tangled mass of what I assumed had once been Death Eaters. She had neither removed nor placed a preserving charm upon them. The result was horrific, even after Crabbe's caveat. My eyes watered as I made my entrance.

"Narcissa." I stalked toward the host's dais at the end of the room. "You really must learn when to end a party, darling."

She reclined upon the host's chair in a most obscene posture, one leg thrown carelessly across the arm of it, and I was sorely tempted to slap her from her spot. She had not only seized my position, but had tainted it with such contempt. I could sense this was a lure, however, so I forced myself not to react.

"You never could do anything properly, Lucius. You couldn't even die appropriately."

"Evidently, neither could you. Whatever should become of such incompetents?"

"Whatever should become of such incompetence?" she rejoined. She lazily tapped her wand against her chin.

'Narcissa, I renounce you. Come what may we are no longer bonded."

"Renounce ME? I am not the one who hid in the folds of Dumbledore's robes!"

She was standing now.

I brandished my wand.

"And they've even given you a little wand. How adorable." Her voice became low, dangerous. "Have you checked it, Lucius? Made sure it was fit for more than spawning hedgehogs?"

"I think it will be suitable for my needs."

"Do they know what your needs are like, Lucius?"

"Do not confuse my needs with yours. I'm not the one who forsook my vows to lie with an abomination."

"Would you try to tell me you have not? That you never lay with a Muggle?"

"Did you never ask your sister?"

"Don't threaten me Lucius! You could never lay with another pureblood while we're bonded."

"And I _would_ never lay with impure blood! I honored our bond. Unlike you…"

"Enough!"

"Yes, Narcissa, I agree! _Expelliarmus_!"

She threw herself from my path, but it was too late. Her wand went skittering across the inlay. I came no closer to where she sprawled across the floor. She was still dangerous. To her credit, she did not try tears. Instead she threw her head back with the bearing of her kind.

"I renounce you! Lucius the great betrayer!"

"Who will once again rule in Dis. For by your hand that is what this house has descended to."

'No less than this House deserves!"

"Does anybody deserve what they are given?" I smirked, for the band had fallen from my left hand. I was free of her. "What is it you deserve, Narcissa? What should you reap for lying with your husband's master? For plotting my incarceration? For tormenting your child? For attempting to slay your own flesh and blood? Did you expect it would not matter since we would be dead soon?"

"It shouldn't have mattered because _you _do not matter, Judas! You refused to stand for our Lord when the Ministry came after you. You wouldn't face Azkaban for him the first time, so I made sure you did the second."

I laughed. "Narcissa, you amaze me. Such extraordinary arrogance. None of us matter. We'll see how well you fare when you yourself meet the fortress."

"No!"

"Oh, yes. Did you think I'd let you die easily for what you did? The dementors have returned to the island now that your paramour has fallen. I swore to kill you when I realized what you planned for our child. But I never promised I'd do it quickly."

"Lucius!" She began to inch toward her wand. I debated how close I would let her get, since I needed the wards to come down before I could act.

"Do you think you'll fare as well as your sister did? After all, she had his love to sustain her." I sent her wand a few feet further and she sagged. "Of course, you have something better, don't you?"

She bristled. I had her.

"You have his seed. Always the perfect breeding bitch, aren't you, darling?"

Finally, the Aurors managed to breach the gates. I was knocked from the dais in the shockwave, finding myself facing the parquet. Despite the inopportune timing I was thankful, for I had run out of trumps.

And she had regained her wand. "_Diffindo_!"

"_Protego!_" I directed at her, confounded for an instant by the lack of blood. I knew her spell had connected. Then the lead crystal daggers of a chandelier rained down upon me, clearing up the mystery. I quickly began to extricate myself from the mess.

"_Expelliarmus!_"

My wand flew from my grasp. Heaving a chunk of plaster at her as a distraction, I yanked myself out of the shards. I attempted a wandless Accio, coming up instead with my cane. Grabbing it, I cursed silently that it was the wrong rowan bough. My concentration was slipping. Knowing I needed time, I lashed out at her.

"Did you lie with him even as I rotted in Azkaban? Even as your son bled beneath your feet?"

"_Avada Kedavra_!"

I should have been dead. But Narcissa had never used the Killing Curse before. Her focus was not there, and instead it shattered my cane. I suppose rowan really did grant protection from Dark powers. I fell to the ground as my support failed, but used the opportunity to roll under the divan.

"Narcissa! Bellatrix always told you to practice the Unforgivables before using them in combat. Now you really will join me in Azkaban!"

"Never!"

"Oh yes, Narcissa. An Unforgivable is an Unforgivable and the Killing Curse is the worst of the lot. And with Aurors about, too. You know they're on the property, able to identify one wand from another. For shame."

The divan caught fire and I threw myself toward the credenza closest to my wand. It was still too far to reach, despite my desperate Accios.

"I hope you enjoy your maternity, Narcissa! Imagine. No midwife would dare come to that forsaken strand to help you deliver Voldemort's child. Not even a hag. You'll breech it on the straw in a fetid cell."

"Lucius!"

"Don't worry, darling. I will surely be there. Right where you put me. I look forward to hearing your screams echo through Azkaban." I laughed. "That creature in your womb will not last a week. The guards will have to draw lots for the honor!"

"NO!" Her shriek should have shattered the crystal, had any remained intact.

I dove for my wand, knowing even as I did so that it was in vain. I could hear her second use of the Killing Curse and expected the green light to engulf me even as my hand closed around the shaft. But I felt nothing. Curious, I rolled onto my back to face her.

She was crumpled on the floor.

The curse hadn't been for me at all. Some small part of me was impressed by her resolve. A Black to the last. I pulled myself to my feet and, shambling over, checked for signs of life with my boot. There was none. It was over.

I nudged her again.

"So help me, Narcissa, should you choose to become a ghost I will make your eternity Hell, Azkaban or no."

Then I staggered over to a fainting couch, and tumbling onto it, did precisely that.

"Oh, Merlin! Lucius!" Even in my exhaustion, I noticed the familiarity.

"Miss Vance?"

As she pulled the shawl from across her face, I could see she had the decency to blush.

"Mr. Malfoy. Are you quite all right?"  
"I'm afraid I've made a complete disgrace of these fine robes." I blandly swept a hand across the torn and stained fabric, wondering who might now be enmeshed between the threads.

"I think you might be a bit dazed." She bent down to examine my face. She really was quite attractive for a bureaucrat.

Others followed her into the room, making no reaction as they stepped among the shambles of the room. Their training was impressive. Or perhaps they were still numb from the Battle of Salisbury.

Vance's demeanor changed immediately. "Mr. Malfoy. The Ministry regrets to inform you that your wife took her own life earlier this evening."

"She wasn't my wife." I raised my left hand.

"Excuse me?"

"We renounced. Tragic, really. I hope it doesn't aversely affect the child."

"Oh! Well, we must ask you to come along with us now for detainment, since you were obviously waylaid against your will during your original transfer."

"Was I?" I swore silently as I came back to my senses. The siege gates were useless to me now.

"Oh, most certainly. You must be addled from your ordeal. We have sworn testimony from two Aurors who were present at the attack where Death Eaters kidnapped you with an unauthorized Portkey. We have conjectured that you were imprisoned in this very house for the duration. And upon searching it, here you are."

"Indeed? Well, I must certainly be thankful then that the Ministry has come to my rescue. Even if it is the Transportation Department."

"Well, as you can imagine, the Department of Law Enforcement has their hands a bit full at present. We all must do our part in difficult times. I'm afraid I must now ask you for your wand and request you wait outside with me while the others search the house. Then we must seal it until we can process the… remains." She seemed almost to collapse as she waved her hand toward the carnage that littered the room.

I stood to support her before I realized it would be less than seemly.

She dabbed the shawl at her eyes. "Will you come along easily?"

"I will come along quietly. I doubt it will be easy since Narcissa saw fit to destroy the beautiful walking stick I had."

"I see. Well, have you any others besides that black monstrosity in the foyer? I would prefer you use a cane without an empowered core."

She really did know my games.

"No. I suppose not. Still, it was worth the attempt, n'est-ce pas?"

She smiled slightly and shook her head, transfiguring a nearby candelabra for my use.

Others were fanning through the house as we left it. Through their head coverings, I thought I detected several Order members interspersed with the Aurors and wondered how that might get explained in the official records. However, given the mayhem through which they were sifting, they would probably have quite enough to write about without such extraneous details. We headed for a group of others standing perhaps a Quidditch pitch from the main entry. I noted with some trepidation that my son was among them.

"Draco. Why have you come here?"

"I needed to-"

"Where's Granger?" I cut him off in my haste. I could feel the air thickening. This wasn't just the end of Voldemort, but of the Malfoys as well.

"Inside with the others. I would be, too. But I couldn't. I couldn't face it." He tossed his head back, reminding me of his mother. "I'm sorry, Father. But I don't think I will ever set foot in that house again."

Without thinking, I stepped forward and drew him close. "Draco, you must go."

"No."

"Leave! Now! One of us must survive this."

"No."

"Have you learnt nothing this summer? Flee!"

"No." He was calmer than I had ever seen him. "I have learned a great deal this summer, Father. I will not run from here, and I will not run from her. I don't believe some two-hundred-year-old crank can know her heart. I can."

"She will bury us both."

He patted my shoulder as if I was the child. "No. She won't. I have faith."

I had no response to that. How could I? My son would not see reason and neither of us would see sunrise. I could not leave and he would not. So in some grand farce we waited patiently, like lambs in spring, until figures came flooding out from the portico. Most began taking positions to form a large circle around the building. One of the dark shapes broke free and came running toward us.

It was Hermione, of course, her face dark and stricken and her eyes flashing.

"So many bodies. She kept them there…" Then she turned more violent.

"You knew!" She slashed at Draco with her words.

"You knew all along that- that room was there! You grew up with it didn't you! You told Harry and Ron about it second year! You made jokes!"

"How could you live with yourself? That- it was -!" She trailed off, pacing before my son and tearing slightly at her curls.

Draco took it impassively. Only his eyes gave him away, widening in their sorrow.

"Those instruments! And the chains!" Her movements became even more violent as she jerked in a tight path before us, focused on my son.

Still he remained silent. I had every urge to step between them.

"AND! THE! BLOOD!" She screamed, clipping her words in her fury. She stopped before him, dreadfully still. The air around us seemed to thicken. "So much blood…" she hissed.

And here the axe would fall. I was tired of waiting for it. "Miss Granger!"

She jerked her head to me and I saw my own death in her eyes. Mesmerized, all the strength left my voice.

"It was Draco's blood," I whispered pitifully.

Her eyes changed, lightened but no less dangerous, resembling Potter on Lammas night. She pulled from me to my son and saw confirmation of my words.

"No!" she shouted, grabbing his shoulders, searching his eyes and she shook. I could feel the magic spiraling into her.

She whirled suddenly, from my innocent son to the house and it seemed all the power in the world released.

"NO!"

I grabbed Miss Vance and dove to the earth.

Hermione's scream echoed even as the shockwave hit. But I was stupefied and unable to respond. The rumbling went on around me as if the Hogwarts Express were rerouted through our garden.

"_Ennervate._"

I delicately attempted to extricate myself from Miss Vance.

She looked penitent. "Sorry. It's a trained reaction."

"I understand," I said in my most gracious air, trying to ignore the fact that we had been entangled on the ground. Instead, I turned my attention to the house.

_She will raze it to the ground._

Nothing remained of the building. Not even its foundation.

Others were picking themselves up from where they had fallen in the blast. Hermione remained curled in amongst herself and my son half-crawled to her.

"Hermione?" He brushed her hair back from her face, then laughed once and pulled her toward him.

She was sobbing.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry…" she whimpered before going back to her tears.

"I was just telling Father that I never wanted to set foot in the place again." He touched his forehead lightly to hers. "You must have felt that."

She looked up at him, ruddy and tear-stained. "You're laughing. I just…"

"Yeah. You just completed that stupid prophecy he's been on about. You'll never be able to tell anyone that they're so much fluff now."

She sniffed. "I never said it was fluff. I said it was guesswork."

And my son had guessed correctly. I would have laughed had I not the weight of several generations of incorrect guesses upon me. Two hundred years of hexing the tide.

"_Their inward thought is that their houses shall continue for ever; they call their lands after their own names._"

"_Selah_." Miss Vance answered me quietly. To my dismay, my shame was evident to her. But she quickly brushed a glove across my cheek, preserving my dignity as everyone on the grounds rushed to surround us. I slowly stood and made a rather absurd effort to brush down my robes.

"Hermione, dear? Are you all right? Were you hurt in the blast?"

Miss Vance laughed. "Arthur, she was the SOURCE."

He whipped his head quickly to the settling debris, then back to her.

"I'm OK, Mr. Weasley. I…" She started to cry again.

"She lost control of her power, Weasley. An accident, I suppose. Really, I don't know _what_ they are teaching at Hogwarts these days. And to Muggle-borne, too. If they must take in children with no exposure to magic, then surely they should do a better job training them to control it."

"Malfoy!" Weasley colored.

Honestly, the man was too easy to be considered game. But I was more interested in ensuring Hermione's part in the events would be obfuscated by my slur. Two Ministry minions stepped between us and shuffled Weasley away from me even as they muttered encouragements to him. It was only then that I saw him smile at Hermione.

I shook my head.

I really should have played chess with that man.

But there was no time for more insight. With so many people in attendance, the masks had all been donned and everyone played their part. My son was led away with the others and I was taken to the Ministry.

"_Evil shall slay the wicked_."_Psalm 34:21_

"_Their inward thought is that their houses shall continue for ever; they call their lands after their own names._"_Psalm 39:11_


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

"_Judge me, O LORD; for I have walked in mine integrity."_

_Psalm 26_

The Ministry cell was not nearly as desirable to me as it had been just a month ago. Still, it was clean and warm, which was certainly much better than my destination. But I found myself at the end of a tale strangely lacking. It would have been so much more poetic to have fallen with the house. Or at the hands of my wife, perhaps even on the Lammas night battle. Instead, I had outlived my span, destined to haunt Azkaban until the years finally corrected the error.

Ah, what I would have given for a glass of wine to ease me through that interlude. More so, one laced with hemlock.

But I was not to be kept in such a state long. The Ministry was quick to administer me, for they wished to get back to celebrating Voldemort's demise and processing the aftermath. I was little more than a distraction to most of the population, a final bit of dust yet to settle. Very few were even aware I was still alive until I came to trial.

Weasley came to fetch me for my hearing. He fussed a tiny bit, making sure I was presentable for the courts, but I could care less. This seemed to bother him more than one would think. It was as if he wanted some sort of sign from me, but after a few attempts he gave up on conversation. He finished quietly and I allowed him to lead me into a completely full Courtroom Ten.

I sat smoothly in the chair. The bindings crept across me but I merely waited. This was my third experience with the restraints and I hadn't the heart even to react. Fudge, that corpulent fool of a Minister, peered across the bar with a look he probably assumed was predatory. It was much closer to that of a scavenger.

"Well? What have you to say for yourself, Malfoy?"

"Nothing."

Murmurs ran through the crowd and I imagine quite a few Quick-Quills were scrabbling. Fudge looked quite taken aback.

"Nothing?"

I considered many retorts, but none of them seemed worth the effort. They would only serve to sell more papers and I was quite done with such grandstanding. So I remained silent. The courtroom grew tense as even the murmuring quelled. Still I sat.

Fudge was in danger of falling, so far had he leant across the rail.

"Have you no defense for your actions, man!"

"To what end? I've already been tried and convicted, by a competent prosecutor I might add, for my actions in May. I have a life sentence in Azkaban. What could you hope to accomplish by repeating this?"

Fudge was certainly out of his depths, looking to his panel for support. I wished him the greatest of luck getting any out of them. Certainly one of us deserved it. Madam Bones must have requested an abstention, as she had for my first trial; she was conspicuously absent. Instead, immediately to Fudge's right was Miss Vance, evidently displaced as Chief for this trial so that Fudge might garner publicity. Not far down from her was Dumbledore, silent and smiling as if he were waiting for tea. He had evidently determined I wasn't worth the effort of claiming his rightful place as Chief either. I wondered if I had ever really expected anything else of them. Regardless, the council remained silent.

"This is WRONG!"

The courtroom witnesses gasped almost with a single breath as Harry Potter shouted from amid them. Hero of the Hour, anything he said was newsworthy.

Fudge desperately pounded the rail in front of him. I almost wished I could see the uproar behind me.

"Mr. Potter. I must ask you to remain silent during the proceedings and let justice be served."

"Oh. Like it was when you dragged me here because I had to fight off two dementors?" I could hear his anger and determined he must certainly have risen from his seat.

"I think perhaps we might want to hear from Mr. Potter." Dumbledore's quiet voice cut Fudge as if it were a _Diffindo_. No wonder the old graphorn had remained silent. Potter was his mouthpiece. He always did prefer puppeteering to personal action.

"Why, yes of course. Mr. Potter, do enlighten us on the situation." Fudge sat gingerly upon his chair.

"This whole trial is a sham. Lucius Malfoy was taken out of Azkaban by the Order of the Phoenix to destroy Voldemort. He never escaped. He was never even free. He always knew he was going right back to Azkaban if he didn't die…"

His voice faltered and failed and I could feel green eyes on my back. He was a rather smart boy after all.

"Is this true?" Fudge accused me.

I shrugged. "I had no idea anyone could actually survive the Morsmordre."

The courtroom erupted again, and I let myself feel the current of it. Potter might just save me from that awful rock. Fudge raised a hand to quiet the room.

"I see. But that still doesn't change the original sentence."

"Cornelius? I think I have some questions for Mr. Potter." Miss Vance stood. She was deliberately stunning for the photographers, wearing emerald garb beneath plum Wizengamot robes. Her face implacable, she turned her attention across the room.

"Mr. Potter. You said that Mr. Malfoy aided the Order of the Phoenix?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"But there were no accounts of him on the Salisbury plain during the battle."

"No, ma'am. He wasn't allowed to leave Order headquarters."

"Allowed?"

"Yes, ma'am. He tried to go, but one of the Order stopped him."

"So he really had no part in it at all, then?" she smiled coldly. I remained still, not even daring to breathe. She was leading Fudge to a slaughter.

"No! That's not true. He-"

"He what, Mr. Potter?"

"He transferred all his magic to me so I could defeat Voldemort."

The earlier gasp had been nothing compared to the reaction now. But then the room fell silent, waiting desperately for what might come next.

"Dumbledore!" Fudge's voice was near hysteria. "Is this true?"

"I can't say anything for certain, Minister since I was at Salisbury. There was quite a battle there that night, you know. And so few of us there to fight it. But I do tend to believe what Mr. Potter says is true. He did seem to have powers quite beyond what anyone could believe."

"You!" he snarled down at me. "You expect me to believe you would give up your magic? And to a half-blood BOY!"

I waited for the fervor over his slip to settle before giving my answer.

"I am no longer important to this game, Fudge, and the board must be cleared for the generation to come. And as far as the last, I have come to believe the most salient point about blood is that it should remain internal."

The silence was only broken by the scratching of quills. I was glad for the furious skittering, for it gave me the only proof that time was still transpiring at all.

"No further questions."

Fudge sat down, his shoulders bent. No doubt already imagining tomorrow's headline of MINISTER CALLS WIZARDING SAVIOR HALF-BLOOD! I had the small satisfaction of knowing that his administration was finished. Fitting, since I had pretty much installed it. The witches and wizards of the Wizengamot spoke among themselves for what seemed to be an inordinate amount of time. I waited patiently, knowing that any delay could only be in my favor. A shortened sentence would allow me hope, which I desperately needed. With Voldemort's forces dismantled, there was little doubt the dementors were already back patrolling Azkaban. Despite the weight of my robes, I already felt chill.

Two guards approached me as the chains fell from the chair. Fudge took the materialized scroll, scanned it, and then thrust it at Vance. She stood.

"Mr. Malfoy, please rise and face the Wizengamot."

I did so. There was little point in being obstinate now.

"Yours is the most convoluted case tried by the Wizengamot in many centuries," she announced dramatically. "Nevertheless, we are ready to pass sentence. You have been tried once and found guilty without merit for your participation in the Battle of Ministries. You have been removed from your assigned sentence at Azkaban, willingly or otherwise, under circumstances we do not pretend to know. Yet, you have also aided in the downfall of the Darkest wizard to come to power, and both your wife and your estate were sacrificed in the process." She paused, letting the scroll curl around her hand slightly. "You are a very capricious wizard, Mr. Malfoy, but evidently not an incorrigible one. In the interest of the new age and the end to a reign of terror, we are prepared to commute your sentence of imprisonment in Azkaban to that of Ministry custody."

It took all my effort to breathe.

"You will be assigned as a ward under strict recognizance until such time as the Ministry is satisfied with your behavior. At such time, your case will be reviewed and if we find no further grievances with your actions, we are prepared welcome you back into society. Let no one say the Ministry is blind to those who come to aid the side of light in dark times."

"I thank the court for their extreme generosity." I bowed my head, quickly assessing the possible consequences of this ruling. But the sheer volume of them overwhelmed me. I had my life back and perhaps one day might even have my freedom. I would be able to see my son.

"Have you anything further to say?"

"I must ask the Wizengamot what is to become of my son."

"Have you no contract for his guardianship?" she asked pointedly, before waving a hand dismissively for the crowd. "We will assign your custody with your son in mind. By the power of these Isles, this Wizengamot is adjourned."

I turned to face the assemblage behind me. I supposed that I owed them that. Without witnesses to this hearing, I would have been led from the room in chains. My son's hair stood him out directly, and next to his a thicket of brown. They weren't an awful match, I decided, and certainly any children would at least be intelligent. I sighed. If I was an honest wizard, it wouldn't have been the first time I regretted she was not a pureblood. Still, she was no longer a threat, either.

"Mr. Malfoy? If you would care to follow me?" Weasley gave a curt nod for the press.

I started to follow when it occurred to me that I had rights once more.

"May I ask where you are taking me?"

"Miss Vance would like do discuss the details of your placement in her office. Fewer distractions."

"Weasley, you're in Muggle Artifacts. Why are you acting as my bailiff?"

"Because I asked to. The Order does not forget its debts, Malfoy." He led me to a dark paneled office I had passed many times before. "Please wait in the office. I'm sure she will be along presently."

I wandered in, trying to decide how to question Weasley about his involvement with the verdict but found to my surprise he had left me alone in the room. So I contented myself with perusing the office artifacts instead, finally attracted to a small picture on the corner of her desk that was obviously old and slightly worn. Waving at the camera was one of the Prewett brothers, as if it had ever been possible to tell them apart. I was marveling that someone had managed a picture of just one of them alone when it occurred to me why Miss Vance remained unmarried at her age.

"I really must put a proper frame on that someday." She absently waved her wand, sealing us with an _Imperturbable_. The motion looked oft practiced.

"My apologies, Miss Vance." I replaced the photo. "I have quite forgotten which brother was your intended."

"The other one," she said, smiling. "That's Fabian. I was betrothed to Gideon. But Molly found that picture a few years back. It's our little joke really. I keep it on my desk so people can pick it up and wax eloquent on how nice Gideon looked."

"An interesting way to honor them."

"They would have enjoyed it, I think. And it is a good reminder that much of what is said in this office is farcical."

"That does not give me much optimism for these proceedings."

"Ah, Mr. Malfoy. You have been inordinately free with your thoughts of late. I had hoped the same might be said of my dealings with you."

"Yes, certainly so. You have been so direct in your opinion of me that I must admit I am quite astonished to be here instead of in middle of the North Sea."

"As are many in the community, I'm sure. But we can't forever look backward."

"So instead I am to be a show dog for the Ministry."

"And such a fine breed for it, too. Pity about the temperament." Her voice lowered. "It would have been a shame to destroy you."

I left off my attempts to goad her.

"I understand from your intimation that I am to be placed under the supervision of Weasley?"

"That's certainly an option, yes. It might solve quite a few untidy ends."

I nodded. As expected, she had extrapolated my statement of will to an unpalatable length.

"However, there are several willing officers. Potter's account of you has raised quite some interest around the building." She produced a small sealed scroll, which she passed to me.

"Have you any idea which of these people you might choose for me?"

"I actually thought I might let you choose. I see no reason why I should have to make this decision. You seem to be making decent enough choices of late."

I hastily broke the seal and scanned the list. She was right. There were several names, many of them mid-level employees who would no doubt benefit from the publicity. But near the top of the list was Weasley's name. Near the bottom was her own. I glanced up to see if she was making a joke. "Miss Vance, I'm afraid I don't understand your position in this."

"Then you aren't thinking. I was led to believe that thinking was one of your strengths." She seemed more amused than irritated, steepling her fingers in front of her face as she sank into her chair; every bit the benign authority. And therein lay the answer.

She wanted to assume control of the Ministry. In that moment, I knew she had organized the Wizengamot today, not Dumbledore, not Weasley. She must have been arranging Fudge's debacle even as she picked her robes.

"There's never been a half-blood Minister of Magic, Miss Vance. The population would never accept it."

"Really Mr. Malfoy, I expected better mathematical ability from one so well educated. By my calculations, I could hardly be more than one sixteenth _Muggle_." She smiled. "After such an awful period in our history, we need a progressive leader to help us mend. Perhaps it would be best to have someone in power with a tie to both worlds."

I felt as if I had overbalanced. Grasping for something to say, I admonished her.

"Ambition is a most dangerous thing."

"An interesting observation, considering the source. But I disagree. Untempered ambition is dangerous. Properly controlled, ambition is the driving force of society."

"Yes."

"You agree to something without qualifying it? I'm shocked."

"Yes, I agree with you. Yes, I will help you. Yes, I would certainly prefer your custody to Weasley's." The Vances were at least an old family if not quite pure, with an estate and lifestyle to match. Moreover, I was enticed by even the smallest chance to participate in politics.

"Even given my blood status?" Her words were harsh but her face was not and I considered that she might be toying with me. But then her expression grew solemn. "Don't agree too quickly. I don't think I could have you living under my roof without knowing certain facts."

"You planned Emain Cal."

It seemed her turn to be surprised. "How long have you known?"

"Just when I saw the picture. I should have concluded it before, however I've been a bit preoccupied of late." I was actually a bit relieved as I had suspected Molly Weasley, but I was loath to reveal my mistake. "Was there anything else-"

"Will you attempt to avenge your father?"

"I already have."

"Mr. Malfoy…"

"Miss Vance!" I had reached my limit. "I will tell you now quite plainly that I intend no harm to you for my father's death or for any other action we have taken toward each other in the last two decades in any matter. I am done. Why have you not comprehended this? After all, _I _was the one who forced the endgame by deliberately placing myself in the Order's possession. _Me_, Miss Vance! _I_ conceded. _I_ finished this!" I could feel my blood rise and knew that I could only be harming myself with this outburst even as I bent across the desk toward her.

She stood, appraising me with a rather queer glint and I knew I had gone too far.

I pressed a hand through my locks, trying to regain my composure before I completely destroyed what little regard I had garnered from her. "My father lies in a crypt beneath a house that no longer stands. His assassins have been murdered, and their murderers slain in turn. If I am not the wizard to stop forging links in this chain, surely it would one day shackle my own son."

She had come around the desk and now stood uncomfortably close to me. "That's quite eloquent, Mr. Malfoy. Might I persuade you to let me purloin a bit of the phrasing for myself?"

"I would be happy to help you write the speech. It would give me something to do while I impose on your hospitality." I bowed, ending the matter in my own mind even as I stepped clear of her influence. I realized in that moment that I was no longer bonded and I had a sudden misgiving about our interaction. Quickly I thrashed about for a technicality that might prove me still objective. "I do not understand though, how you intend to keep reporters from intimation."

"I'm afraid I don't follow you. I intend to do no such thing."

"Surely a scandal might hurt your bid for office."

"Indeed? Our cloistered little world can be so archaic, don't you think? I think it would be wonderful to have you as an escort to all those tedious functions. Your presence could only enliven the conversation."

I had no doubt of this. "But what of the propriety?"

"Propriety? Of a ward and an official? Well, the assignment could fall to anyone, and I am always willing to do my part for the Ministry. I admit, I did briefly consider setting up a sham lottery but I always find such tactics detestable." She smiled wickedly before continuing. "Or perhaps you mean the propriety of a widower and a spinster?"

I was too impressed by the insinuation to respond. She had considered subterfuge in order to obtain me, a wholly unexpected affirmation of my worth. It left me a bit flattered when I reexamined my situation. Then there was the sheer deviousness of the arrangement. She was the only one who knew I had renounced. Should we seem in complicity then it would just be shunted off as the natural course of events. I could almost hear the clucking tongues. No one would believe the impeccable Emmeline Vance capable of scheming solely for the sake of politics. Even I was somewhat unsure of the dynamics.

"Do not worry overmuch about our friends in the press, Mr. Malfoy. I have been a tactician for far too long to overlook such details."

I bowed again, shamelessly flirting. "Then I leave it to your savoir faire, for it has always been most impressive. Why weren't you sorted as Slytherin in school?"

"I chose to be placed in Ravenclaw. It seemed the better option to further my ends. Why weren't you sorted as Ravenclaw?" She leaned casually against her desk.

"I chose to be placed in Slytherin." I replied, remembering my conversation with the hat. "Did you know that no one ever asked me what my alternative had been?"

"I'm not surprised. Everyone always thinks they were the only one who had to make a choice. It always seems so immediate from the periphery. At any rate, it was not hard to guess yours. The two of us have always been defined by our differences, have we not?"

I smirked a bit at that. "We really are opposing rooks."

"Were. But a rook is of no more value than a pawn once the match is finished."

She smiled again, hinting that she believed her words as little as I did. There would be another game, one in which united rooks would make for a most formidable opening. "How long have you been planning this?"

Her smile turned innocent. "From the second I realized you could be redeemed."

"Don't be naïve._ Whoe'er betrays, for ever is consumed."_

"_Blessed is he whose transgression is forgiven, whose sin is covered_." She was still smiling as she retrieved the rowan wand and handed it to me. "You must know that I have also studied the classics. Shall we have a contest?"

And so it went. The rest of the story you have undoubtedly already heard in various permutations. I was shipped off to Vancemor, not an entirely shabby affair from which to finish my internment. My son stayed with me until Hogwarts claimed him for the year. I bade him to owl me often as I would have so little else to occupy my time and he dutifully agreed. In truth, I was anxious as to how he would fare given the new realities of his house.

The children of Slytherin were in shambles, many of them orphaned and their Head of House off to parts unknown now that he considered his own debts repaid. Another Slytherin, Professor Vector, had stepped in to lead them, and while she was not the most nurturing figure she was certainly a superlative matriarch. Being an Arithmancy master gave her an indispensable edge to provide what the children needed before they could even ask. This was imperative, as so many of them were programmed never to ask at all. Her first action concerning my son had been to conjure an enormous window in the room he shared. For some abstruse reason she had chosen to bewitch it with a scene of Torquay which not only elegantly circumvented my son's new phobia but also seemed to have been a social boon to the other boys in the room. Evidently the view was quite popular with the Slytherin girls. The phrase 'gone to Torquay' had slipped into a few of Draco's owls.

Additionally, Dumbledore had managed to acquire the services of Devlin Whitehorn to teach for the year, no doubt a personal favor called in on behalf of the students. Whatever the reason, the results were dramatic. I doubt there was ever a time when the school's Potion marks universally raised so high- at least among the Quidditch fans. Inspired by Whitehorn's real-world application of potions, many of the Slytherins traded one dungeon for another in their independent studies on old training brooms. Dumbledore's manipulation was obvious, but I had to respect the old wizard for the tactic as it kept many of the children too occupied to brood.

Draco spent his time in testing rather than experimentation. He almost never spent time below ground, a preference mostly concealed by his handfast to a girl in Griffindor Tower. Much to my delight, he also managed to keep his rightful standing in his own house. He staked his power early, defying anyone to challenge his chosen mate. No one dared. In fact, it seemed his announcement opened the floodgates to fraternization with the other houses, since there was no longer anything to lose. There were several inter-house romances blazing before Samhain, including the rather impressive coup of Tracey Davis who had set her sights on Montrose Magpie prospect and savior of the known world Harry Potter. Draco, for his part, took Potter's Quidditch future with magnanimity. I suppose, given his summer, he simply hadn't cared. The two still bristled a bit at each other, but it was just a show of plumage. Oddly enough, he had warmed up to Ron Weasley while in the house on Grimmauld; perhaps because they both knew the true contest had already been decided by Hermione. Draco would often complain that he was forced to go halfway across the castle just for a decent chess match, but I was well aware he was most often in the tower already.

But even as I kept up with the news from Hogwarts, politics and society took precedence. Emmeline's rise through the Ministry was impressively swift and she rode the tide right into the Minister's office even as it washed Fudge out. I was a bit disappointed by this as I had hoped for a bit more intrigue, but one must not look askance at a victory just because it was simple. Further, while it may have irked me she had been so completely right about the newfound support for a liberal Minister, I knew affairs were in my best interest. Now that a mixed bloodline held office, it would only be a matter of time before a full Muggle-born would also be in political contention. This was the crux of the issue, for it had already occurred to me that my son's wife actually held the lion's share of ambition.

For my part, I haunted the Vance grounds endeavoring to be the ideal companion to my warden. I began to divert myself with an advanced study of ancient white lore, which eventually resulted in a tome of such length I believe it even impressed my daughter-in-law. It would have been tragic to lose these arts given their role in the downfall of our Darkest wizard. I also felt beholden to them for the life of my son. Being that a proper wizard honors his debts, I made a concerted effort to catalogue as many rites as possible that they would not vanish into our past. This was met with a great deal of initial skepticism but I believe my choice of research material might have had more to do with my acceptance back into society than even my pardon the next spring. Certainly I felt myself a better wizard for the attempt.

I remained on at Vancemor after my discharge, having found comfort in the company there. I suppose that perhaps I had reached a point in my life when I no longer relished solitude and Emmeline seemed no more inclined to roust me from the house than I was to leave. So I simply stayed and life continued on as it had before. Since I had acted as the Minister's consort prior even to her assumption of power, there was nothing terribly fascinating about my continuing to do so now that I was no longer officially obliged. The community had largely lost interest in us at any rate. I suppose the aspersions were just too stale. What's more they were considered wholly unreliable, due in large part to an impressively detailed fabrication published by _The Quibbler_. The article had been so lascivious that I had colored a few times in the reading of it, horrified that Miss Vance must have also seen those passages. But I must admit I secreted a copy of the issue in my quarters, for while it was shockingly graphic, the piece had been incredibly well written. It also contained a few paragraphs I rather enjoyed. We never once spoke of the matter, even though I suspect the house-elves knew and laughed. This should have infuriated me, I know, but overall I found the situation more amusing than anything and I almost wished I could share the humor of it with Emmeline.

The following summer, amidst celebration of Draco's birthday, my son and his wife renewed their handfast. It was a beautiful ceremony, if perhaps a bit overzealous. But given the shadows that blanketed the first rite no one could fault them for their enthusiasm. I had the pleasure of witnessing the event as a free wizard and privately I thought I might burst with pride for my family. I could already see that they would renew the binding again the next summer to make the proper numerological count of three. Then the two would make it final, recapturing lost cachet for the Malfoy name. They would become one of the strongest families of the new generation and their children would be amazing. No one needed a diviner to see that.

I considered this most fortunate of all, for I was quite through with prophecies.

"_Whoe'er betrays, for ever is consumed."_

_Dante's Devine Comedy (Inferno), Canto 32_

_(Longfellow Ed.)_

"_Blessed is he whose transgression is forgiven, whose sin is covered_."

_Psalm 32:1_


End file.
